Whisky Galore (don't try this at home)

 
Last weekend I discovered that the ribs I'd broken when racing in Chamonix weren't quite ready for mountain biking. However, the boys at Ronde were putting on a summer cross race, Haughcross, on Sunday evening as part of a local festival week and Chris was doing the timing, so I figured I'd join the fun. Afterall, cross isn't as bumpy as mountain biking...is it?

I spent the afternoon helping out with sign on and being quiet impressed with the number of quick riders who'd turned up for this, non series, race...James McCallum of Rapha Condor, Davie Lines of Endura Racing, Craig Hardie of Hardie Bikes and Helen Wyman...yes, the Helen Wyman!

We closed sign on just in time for me to quickly get changed and grab my bike for a lap of the course and then I had to get straight to the start line.

I didn't ride much cross last winter because I was still recovering from my nasty face smashing incident, so the racing I did do  was a bit disappointing. Although I've done tonnes more riding this year, I'm still not really feeling as fit as I'd like, so I expected the race to be 40 minutes of pain and not much fun.

There wasn't a huge field of women unfortunately, but since we were racing with the vets and juniors, there was a reasonable turnout on the start line when the gun went and we charged off.

I managed to get my elbows out and through the bottle neck on the first corner. Since the event was part of a local festival, there was quite a crowd outside the beer tent all cheering us on (or sometimes giving us abuse for riding like a girl!).

After the first 4 laps, the stream crossing had turned into a bit of a muddy slog and the big puddle at the top of the course had turned into a proper cross style bog, but, since it's summer, the rest of the course was dry (ish) and fast....very fast! But the 3 sets of hurdles per lap were starting to make my broken ribs pretty achy and I knew the grimace wasn't fooling anyone.

As luck would have it, that's when I found out there was a whisky shortcut!

Now, I'm not a whisky fan at all, but I figured it was a fun event and it might just make my ribs a wee bit less achy. So, as I approached Jim the Whisky Man, I got a shot handed to me, which didn't quite reach me in 1 piece ... whisky flavoured gloves, tried to take a slurp, whisky dribbling down chin, all down my front...but the cheer and the laughter from the crowds watching my face screw up with the taste was a bit of a giggle.

Whether that tiny dribble of whisky helped or whether it was just my imagination, my ribs were a little less achy for that next lap, so when I got back round again to Jim the Whisky man, I figured I'd try another one...less successful this time and more whisky smelling gloves and jersey, but I managed a wee slurp.

Not being a whisky drinker, those two slurps did the trick! My ribs weren't as bad, but the hairpin corners were more challenging!

The finish came round quickly and I realised that I'd really enjoyed the race and I actually felt that I'd raced pretty well. I felt strong and comfortable (which apparently means I wasn't trying hard enough!).

The final race was the open race, which Helen had decided to race in, so as not to show the rest of us girls up too much! The racing was as nail biting and exciting as any series race with the top 4 places changing almost every lap. There were also far more people taking the whisky short cut option, keeping the crowds entertained!

I'm sure whisky shortcuts aren't going to make an appearance in the British Cycling rule book any time soon, but I reckon they'd be a welcome sight at some of those cold, wet, winter cross races and they'd provide a little bit of entertainment!

Jac
x

Electric Assistance

As previously mentioned, I'm up the duff. And at now 5 months preg, our long-planned holiday of cycling up Cols in the Alps & Pyrennees was starting to look less idyllic. Yes, I'm still cycling to work, but my stamina and fitness are no longer what they were. Indeed they are now rather more like my mother's.  Rats. And much of the advice around exercise in pregnancy says :
1) do not get overheated
2) do not let HR get over 145 for extended periods.
The likelihood of me being able to get up Cols without ignoring either / both of those bits of advice was looking somewhere between slim and bugger all. So we left my bike at home. SOB.

The views of mountains were lovely. I hiked some small trails. I swam in the lake (brrr...). I read some books. All good standard holiday fare but I got very gloomy looking at all the cyclists going up glorious cols. And THEN I saw a "Velo a Assistance Electrique" for hire in the local Intersport.

Now THIS, I thought, would be the perfect answer. I had visions of sitting, feet on handlebars, teasing  and chivvying the boyf as he sweated alongside as we went up a Col. I would beat him to the top, comfortably, for the first (and only) time in our relationship. It'd be brilliant.

Only, of course, the reality didn't quite live up to my dream. The man in the hire shop explained that :

1. It's "assistance electrique" i.e. it assists you, it doesn't replace you. Bang went my dream of feet on handlebars and smart remarks a go-go.
2. Whilst the range said 98km, it would reduce depending on how much assistance I required. 
3. The bike weighed 25KG and thus I would be wise to never run out of assistance. 

We set off. I faffed around playing with the various levels (power level 1/2/3 and within those Eco / Tour / Sport and Speed) and discovered that on a nice 10% stretch, me on power level 3, with Speed Option, the boyf was seriously, seriously, sweating to keep up (and he's a Cat 1 racer). But I would only have a range of 8km and thus wouldn't get to the top. Rats.  I had to resort to much less assistance than I would have liked, to ensure that I actually got to the top (which ended up being power level 1, Eco or Tour). It was a very tough Col. I was absolutely, properly exhausted and had to stop twice on the way up for water and sustenance. It took 1h15. No records were broken and I didn't beat the boyf. :-(

But I did make it to the top of the Col des Saisies. :-)

That was lucky!

Last weekend Chris and I headed over to Chamonix to visit Dan and Jo. The plan was to ride Dan's new local trails and get some sunshine, but a few weeks before we were due to head out, we got an e-mail from Dan asking if we fancied doing a race while we were there. The race was an enduro in the proper Euro style, which formed part of the VTT MB Race, a weekend bike festival of races.

It sounded interesting, so we figured we'd give it a bash.

Unfortunately, the race website was all in French (obviously) and neither Chris nor I speak French. We could see from the website that there was an enduro, a street race, a 25k, 50k, 100k and 140k (with 6,6oom of climbing - eek!), but when we tried to find the right entry form, we weren't quite sure if we entered the right race!

The weekend finally rolled around and Chris and I flew out to Geneva with the DH helmets and pads, which are obligatory for French enduro races, as well as our XC helmets...just in case we'd entered the wrong race (and we were planning to do some normal riding too...if we survived the race!).

We arrived in Chamonix late on Friday afternoon to weather not to dis-similar to home, drizzly and grey, but quite a lot warmer. So we unpacked bikes and Dan took us out for a quick ride before tea.

2 minutes from the front door and we were on some lovely rocky, rooty singletrack and I had already hit my max heart rate! The mixture of trying to keep up with Dan and Chris so that I didn't get lost and the altitude and heat were playing havoc with me!

Anyway, the trails were too much fun to worry about my body not coping, so I just wheezed my way along, taking in the fantastic trails, just minutes from Dan and Jo's apartment. Lucky things!

The weather gods decided to make us feel at home by treating us to a monumental down pour. Within seconds we were soaked to the skin and at the furthest point. Hey ho...once you're wet, you're wet.

We knew we had an early start to get to the race on Saturday morning, so we bimbled back, ate tea and had an early night.

We were up and out by 7 the following morning to drive along to Combloux where the race weekend was. The skies had cleared overnight and we were treated to some fantastic views of Mont Blanc and the surrounding mountains, which we hadn't seen at all the day before.

Luckily, we had all signed up for the right race (luckily!) and with a little help from Jo, I managed to sign on, pick up my goody bag of swag, and get my start times for each of the 6 stages.

The rider briefing was all in French so we and the handful of other British riders just smiled and nodded each time everyone turned round to look at us.  Then I heard my name called and I was whisked off to the uplift bus and the day started.

Stage 1 maybe lulled me into a false sense of security with its trail centre feel, but stage 2 gave me a bit of a wake up call when I took the first 2 of my crashes of the day and managed to do a bit of damage to my shoulder and ribs and lose my bracelet (I was more concerned about my bracelet being smashed to smitherines all over the trail than myself at the time). But the first 2 stages went okay and I was comfortably in the middle of a very small pack of female riders.

Stage 3 didn't go quite so well...about 2 minutes into the run I got a puncture in my front tyre which sent me flying into a tree. The crash wasn't a biggie, so I dusted myself off and decided to try to run the rest of the stage since the other two had been pretty short. Unfortunately I was still running 35 minutes later! It was the longest stage of the day!

So my race was over, but there were still 3 more stages to ride, so I fixed the puncture and pedalled as quickly as I could to get to the next chairlift (yes! lift assisted enduro racing is the way forward!). I expected all the other girls to be gone by the time I got to the start of stage 4, but the whole race had been held up, so I hadn't lost my slot after all.

Stage 4 was super short and I was back in the lift again before I knew it. Then one of the marshalls shouted on myself and one of the other girls to hurry up to get to the start of the next stage, so we pedalled off in what we thought was the right direction...unfortunately it wasn't and we ended up riding up the 500m climb to the start of the next stage, when everyone else took the lift up AND got lunch! So we missed lunch and were slightly pooped from the heat when we caught up with everyone else.

Stages 5 and 6 took us back down the mountain towards Combloux with stage 6 finishing on the town's BMX track and then through the streets to the finish in the town square with masses of people cheering us on.

Chris and Dan rode in to town an hour or so after me and we all collapsed with a beer and recounted tales of crashes and heroics with the new friends we'd made during the day.

My puncture and decision to run rather than fix it cost me 3 places and put me into last 8th place, however it was a great day and a fantastic experience to ride some new trails.

On Sunday, since we were all nursing wounds of some shape or form, we decided to go for a local ride, taking the cable car up to a col and riding back down in time for tea. Dan and Jo had only ever skied the route we were planning so we weren't sure how it would work on bikes, but it turned out to be a great ride over the border to Switzerland and back barely seeing another soul. Jo and I both surprised the boys by riding bits of trail they didn't think we would want to try, so it was pats on the back all round by the time we got home.

Then it was Monday  and time to come home, but not without one more ride in the morning on another of Dan's local trails with a 45 minute climb from the road followed by a 30 minute descent right back to the front door.

Riding in new places is great, but now I'm back at home, nursing sore ribs and shoulder from the race and looking out the window at the Pentlands wishing they were just a little bit more like the Alps. Time to start planning the next adventure.

Jac
x

The anticipation of adventure

Summer or no summer it seems that in ‘magazine land’ the sun always shines as the latest issues try to seduce us with stories of epic road trips taken and ultimate adventures had.  Indeed, if the twitter tales are to believed, journalists are literally tripping over each other in the remotest of locations to bring us vicarious moments of loch side sunsets savoured and classic descents negotiated, in a bid to capture the essence of true mountainbiking for those left sitting at home. 

Sometimes it can feel like there’s a never ending diet of riding aspiration being served up on glossy pages, pricking at the globetrotting trip ambitions of the select few, or keeping the faith with - ‘never mind you can still find adventure in your back yard’ - features, for the people for whom austerity was a way of life long before it became popular policy parlance.

But - no matter where you sit on the spectrum of ‘adventure potential’, as mountainbikers there’s just something innate and undeniable that happens when the spirit of ‘what could be’ is ‘floated’ whether on the magazine pages or over coffee with friends. A passing thought or the kernel of an idea only needs to be batted back and forth a few times, in the moment or over a period of days through electronic wizardry, before it starts to take root and grow in minds and hearts. 

Maps, guidebooks, route planners, kit lists, often these elements are seen as hurdles to get over - the planning stuff is after all just a precursor to the action part when the real adventure gets going. But to me, the faffage, rummaging for kit, ordering maps, hunting out route descriptions from long lost blog pages – these are actually some of the best bits.  Why?  Because these are the key ingredients of anticipation.  

Anticipation is often relegated in the adventurers’ mind as the period before the good stuff happens. It gets demoted in the scheme of things because of course everyone knows that it is in the visceral moment of the experience itself that the real memories get burned into the cortex.  If this is you, rushing headlong into your adventure, then you might be interested to know that science has shown that the expectation of something can actually enhance and extend the memories of it, long after the event has happened. Anticipation, it turns out, isn’t delaying your path to adventure and its subsequent treasure trove of memories; it’s actually ensuring a more vivid and long lasting experience. 

So, take your time planning, especially if your windows of escape are limited and your adventures are long earned, and hard won. Enjoy the anticipation of what will be, because this way the pictures and the feelings you create for yourself will have a richness and a longevity that means you won’t be needing the magazines quite as much, to keep the fire alive. 

Ruthx  It's a minxy adventure! 

New Adventures

The last month has been a pretty busy on with lots of new adventures.

In early May I went out to Spain for a week of riding with Ciclo Montana . Chris and I usually go out there for a week of fun, techy riding each spring, to set us up for a summer of riding, but Chris couldn't get the time off work this year. After much umming and awing, I decided to head out there on my own.

I've never been on holiday on my own before, so although I knew where I was going and I knew Mark and Jacky would take good care of me, I was pretty nervous. There would be another three people out there at the same time as me who I didn't know and I had no idea how they rode.

A brief chat with Jacky, which was meant to be reassuring, made me even more nervous because the other 3 sounded really experienced and really fit. So I convinced myself that I'd end up spending the week riding at the back on my own and maybe not having much fun.

Well, that couldn't have been further from the truth!

Nicola, Steve and Alan were really experienced, really strong riders, but they were also really keen to help me improve my riding and learn new stuff too.  Oh, and they were pretty good company too!

By the end of the week, I had found my inner monkey (apparently to tide techy stuff you need to throw monkey shapes on the bike...I laughed too at first, but it worked!) and I was riding trails faster than I've ever ridden them before and clearing trails I've never even attempted to ride before.

When I got home, nicely tanned and desperate to get out and try out my new found skills, Chris was only too happy to oblige. So we packed up the van and headed up to Perthshire to ride from Bridge of Tilt. It was a ride I've not done for years, but I knew there was one loose, rocky, techy, exposed descent that scared the living daylights out of me last time I tried it and I chickened out at the top. This time, it still scared the living daylights out of me, but I rode it and was smiling at the bottom.

Definite progress!

Then last weekend, Chris and I both rode in the POC King and Queen of the Hill event which was part of the Tweedlove Festival .

We were super lucky with the weather...dry dusty trails at Glentress is almost unheard of! And there was a great turnout of almost 200 riders.

The event was a timed stage race (2 ups and 4 downs) using a combination of trail centre trails, natural trails, some fresh cut trails and some slightly cheeky trails.

My new skills stood me in good stead and I found that I was able to ride trails faster than I'd been able to ride them before and with a lot more confidence. Only 2 crashes (one when stationary with one foot on the ground and one when I  decided to take the racing line and hit a hidden tree stump and supermanned over the bars!), but given that I was riding stuff that even just a few months ago I would probably have made excuses to avoid, that's pretty good going!

We didn't manage to hang around to see the prize giving, but the e-mail I received yesterday told me that I have a plaque waiting for me to collect for placing 3rd!

So I really do need to thank Nicola, Steve, Alan and of course Marco from Ciclo, for those skills sessions!

Next adventure? Chris and I are heading over to Chamonix for a weekend in July to visit some friends and we've been talked into doing an enduro event while we're there. I'm sure those French folks will put me well and truely in my place, but it'll be quite exciting to see them ride!

Jac
x

Climb to calm

It’s a place that we go and ride often.  The hilltops are clad with a brush of heather and the combes that connect to the valley bottom cascade with oak and beech that wrap you in an embrace of colour as the seasons change.  Each time we ride there’s a choice. Start high and be met with sky and the gentle undulations of the cresting hills, or start low where the streams level as they pass beyond the combes to the sea.  As often as not, there’s an unspoken agreement that the ride begins with a climb.  Sky views, though cherished, still have to be earned.

There’s always that initial period at the beginning of a ride, as the wheels escape tarmac to be met with the richer textures and resistance of earth, rock and roots.  No words are exchanged, and looks are measured as individually you break away from the place where you were, to the space where you want to be. 

In recent years I’ve been seduced by the concept of meditation and its promise of an antidote to the chaos of life with its acquired cloak of modernity.  In my yoga practices I try to concentrate on stillness and breath, but only rarely find the place where the mind and body cooperate and find balance.

But sometimes, it seems that the thing we’ve been looking for has been there all along; just waiting for its value to be unearthed and recognised.  As I drop down the gears and cast my eyes towards the horizon, my characteristically racing mind quietens, and all the competing thoughts drift away as I will back the muscle memory that I know I need to carry me upwards.

Mechanical propulsion; there’s that reassuring simplicity in knowing that the action of turning the pedals can take you as far as your body and mind are prepared for.   There’s a comfort in the repetition as the warmth starts to spread, and the sense of movement and familiarity reminds you of why you pushed aside all the competing interests for this moment in time.

And there it is, in the simple act of pointing the bike uphill, your mind empties and the calm spreads like an embrace.

Ruthx


 ... summit sunshine not included ...

You're STILL riding?

My cycling year got off to a slow start after a Christmas skiing accident left me on crutches with a torn thigh muscle. Rats. I gradually worked my way back to fitness only to then find (happily) that I was pregnant.

I consulted my GP, who said road cycling was fine up to about six months, after which time I might find myself having problems with balance, so the boyf (also a keen cyclist) agreed happily for life to continue as normal with me cycling to work.

On announcing our news to family, colleagues and friends, however, there's been a general reaction of :

"Congratulations. I take it you're not cycling any more?"

"No, I'm still cycling."

[face of horror]

"But you could get knocked off. And kill the baby"

Sigh. I try to explain that me keeping fit is important. And non-weight bearing exercise is good. And cycling (even in London) doesn't necessarily mean you will be knocked off and/or killed. But suddenly everyone has an opinion and everyone thinks I'm wrong. I find it exhausting (and somewhat annoying) to have to defend our decision on a daily basis. Surely if both parents and the doctor believe it to be a reasonable risk, it's fine? Not to mention the fact that plenty of pregnant women in other countries continue to cycle, like these gorgeous ladies from Denmark.

(photo by Mikael Colville-Andersen)

I am mindful of the dangers of London roads and, now that the bean is a bit bigger and I am a bit slower, I have taken to cycling on the towpath, rather than the South Circular, but I remain a militantly enthusiastic cyclist, defending my right to :

 a) get around London in reasonably prompt fashion
 b) not to feel sick when I get there after hot and smelly train carriages

Apparently this makes me a reckless and selfish woman though. So did you / would you cycle when you were pregnant?  Or would you head to the swimming pool instead?

F.B.R.O.T.Y (and other adventures)

There's usually one definitive ride early on each year that marks the end of winter and reminds me of the promise of the coming months of more daylight and slightly less muddy trails (the First Big Ride of the Year), but there wasn't one this year.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mean I haven't been out for a big ride this year yet. What I mean is that because we had a pretty mild winter, we were able to keep riding and going for big rides in the hills for much of the winter. In fact, at the end of February Chris and I went for a big mountain ride in the Cairngorms which is currently covered in snow and unrideable!

Already this year I've done more riding in new places places than I did in the whole of last year. The flip side of this is that I haven't been near a race at all this year (unless you count the birthday cycle speedway back in February).

It's not that I haven't thought about racing, because I have, but the mild and relatively dry weather have meant that trails are rideable, but still pretty quiet because it's still early in the year.

I say relatively dry weather, however, Chris seems to have dragged me out on more bad weather death march rides this year than he has over the last few years combined....

Carrying bikes through the Chalamain Gap (over a kilometer of unrideable boulderfield which would have been challenging even without a bike) with a nasty storm chasing us off the hill...

Pushing bikes up to the top of Lowther Hill in zero visibility, driving rain and sleet and no sign of the next marker post (somehow, Chris actually picked up on the tune which was going through my head on that ride...that old Tammy Wynette song D.I.V.O.R.C.E...I swear I didn't sing it out loud!). In fact, the weather was so bad that day, even the lambs were wearing raincoats!

But then we've also had big, open mountain rides, so early on in the year, that there hasn't been a soul around.

The great thing about all this riding so early in the year is that I'm finally managing to get some of that lost fitness back and I'm getting back all that lost confidence too.

On Saturday, I went out for a ride with the big boys and actually rode some of the big boy stuff...they were there to coach me and encourage me, but I rode it, overcame the fear of crashing and ignored the little voice telling me to slam on the brakes and get off and walk this bit!

Then on Monday, I had a lovely day off work and decided to headed off for a ride on my own (I had the trails all to myself...bliss) and managed to ride lots of bits of trail that I've never been brave enough to ride before and I didn't even hear that little voice telling me to get off and walk. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to try riding big, scary things I've always been afraid of when I'm out on my own, but if you're feeling confident and riding like a goddess (even if I do say so myself...of course there was nobody there to see me and tell you otherwise), then why waste all that good feeling by not pushing the limits a little bit?

I don't know if I'll be able to ride it all when I go back to it next time, but I've ridden it, I've finally got over the nerves left over from my crash last October and I'm starting to push myself again and feel like my mojo has finally come back.

My lack of fitness is still really frustrating, but I'm enjoying going out to play on bikes again and looking for excuses to go and play, whatever the weather ...Chris would say that's because of all the death marches he's been taking me on...all good training apparently!

So no real FBROTY this year, but lots of BRs so far and a promising summer of lots more BRs pushing myself and having fun again. I don't really have many race plans until the end of the summer, so that leaves a whole summer for playing on my bike and riding in new places. What more could a girl ask for?

Jac
x

It's all biking ...

I have always had an affinity for hills.  It doesn’t have to be mountains – although a decent, properly craggy top will always grab my attention – generally it just needs to be somewhere with a lung expanding amount of height, offering the promise of a view, and that provides the ‘map like’ perspective you only get with a good dose of elevation. 

It’s hard to say what it is about being in the hills that I like most.  Sometimes it’s the subtlety of a wraparound, velvety contour as the clouds judder over the ridge, but on other days it can just be the downright grandeur of the geology itself, writ large against the ravages of time and people.  

Perhaps not surprising then, that from the moment I jumped on my first fluro-forked, fully rigid, canti-braked Marin; mountain biking has been the perfect way to feed my soul-led desire to be in hilly places.

So, finding myself on a rainy, overcast Sunday morning en route to Thetford - gazing out at the steadfastly flat landscapes of Norfolk - I was having some distinct problems reconciling my view of how the ‘mountain’ and ‘biking’ bits were going to fit together. 

I’d been lured by a good friend who knows the area well, with the promise of ribbony, flowing, mile upon mile of singletrack. “Honestly, you’ll love it!”  Honestly; I wasn’t so sure.  Some people find big horizon skies liberating, I could feel myself mentally hunting for a bump or hillock, in fact any sort of feature that I could ‘tuck’ away into.

Turns out, I needn’t have worried. As I was led on a dance of twists and turns through the trees, I stopped looking for hills and quickly switched to seeking out bumps and turns as my speed sources.  In fact, slight elevations became interruptions to the increasingly ‘flat out’ chase, as my eyes and expectations adjusted to the terrain.  Even the experience of being on an extremely diddy, loaner singlespeed didn’t alter the sensation of momentum, and the narrow [bordering on retro-chic] handlebars, made gap squeezing a breeze.

You’re never going to convince me that riding the flatlands is mountain biking as I know and love it.  But it’s certainly biking in its own right, and with good friends for company that’s more than enough – even for this mountain goat!

Ruthx

I rode!

I rode!, a photo by jumbly on Flickr.

I've been more ill than not so far this year. It has seriously hindered bike riding, running and general enjoyment of life. Two weeks ago with the help of a general anaesthetic and a lovely surgeon me and my gallbladder parted company.

Ten days of proper convalescence, some serious blanket action, 22 episodes of The West Wing. Then the sun came out. Two days of deck chair and the latest Haruki Murakami book. Today...... I rode!

Only four miles, but enough to induce a grin. Enough to finally start feeling like I'm on the mend.

Vikki

Let it go

Minx met Ruth because she lived 'just down the road' so it was an excuse for hand-delivered orders and gradually longer bike-chat sessions. Minx admires Ruth's dedication to scary downhill stuff, Ruth pretends not to think Minx is a wimp for sticking firmly to one gear and a complete lack of suspension. Here's her first post...

I’m sure Daniel Goleman, he of ‘Emotional Intelligence’ best selling, book fame - if you can remember that far back to the mid 1990s - would have had something to say about the interplay (or maybe the disjuncture) between the messages you get from your head and the ones you get from your heart.

You see, I have a bit of habit of coming at stuff, including my riding, with my rational, switched on, ‘thinking brain’, all fired up and ready to guide me through the rocky stuff (literally and metaphorically speaking).  Tricky root fest adorning an off camber drop in? … no problem, adjust speed, roll in, lay off brakes, look ahead to exit point, allow the suspension to do its thing ... job done.

Ah ha! my clever head says, ‘you see’, knowledge applied correctly means that your brain chemistry is coordinating your body mechanics and all is well in the world of off road riding stability.  It’s all nanosecond stuff; but it’s still a triumph for my thinking brain.

But you know what? My best moments; the times when I genuinely experience that magic dust stuff that the journos call ‘flow’, when my bike and body work seamlessly together.  Well I don’t ‘think’ that stuff at all.  It’s my pure, base evolutionary brain synapses instinctively creating movement and anticipating the trail ahead.   You’ll know it when you feel it, cause you’ll be darned if you can describe what it was you just did … you just know that it felt right.

Which says to me that maybe there’s a time to switch off the busy mind and let it go; that’ll be riding with your heart.

Ruth

The Slow Road

After an eventful Christmas ski trip, culminating in a short flight in a helicopter to hospital and some frantic attempts to remember long-lost GCSE German, I found myself on crutches for all of January. And whilst my biceps came along a treat during that time, my leg muscles (one of them torn by the aforementioned accident) atrophied away.

So February was mostly spent doing dull physio exercises - one-legged squats, etc etc. And, gradually, trying to get back to somewhere near fit. 20 minutes on the rollers one day, 25 the next and so on.

Then I rode to work. I never thought that 8 miles would feel like SUCH a long way. I had a rest on the way. And wanted to sleep at my desk by 11am. After a week or so, that got easier and I thought I was fit so rode to my sister's house (18 miles). Had to stay the night as found it such a shock.

It's maddening how quickly you lose fitness and how slowly you gain it (for me, at least). The leg still hurts much of the time, there's a tiny dent where the muscle tear was, and anything over 40 miles is still unfathomably far, but the NHS physio declares me "better". Right.

EDIT: After a short ride in the sun today I am MUCH more cheery. I will get there! But slowly.

Livvy

New Tricks?

Last Saturday morning 11 hardy souls gathered to celebrate a friend's birthday at the Gin Pit...no, not some dodgy illegal drinking den, but the Astley and Tyldesley Cycle Speedway track.

I had never even watched cycle speedway until the birthday boy forwarded on a you tube clip of the world championships....aside from looking a bit like wacky races, it looked like it might hurt. I figured the full face helmet might be overkill though.

We were the first to arrive at a very frozen and icy track. To keep warm whilst we waited for the others to arrive we volunteered to help clear the ice off the track...it didn't really help that much. It was freezing!

Soon everyone arrived and our commissaire for the day set about telling us how it works. 4 laps round a very short course...how hard can that be? Only 5 races? Surely that's only a few minutes of racing over the whole day. Sounded like a much easier option than cyclocross or cross country!

I was picked as one of the first riders to line up on the start line with three others(including 2 children a fraction of my age and size, but a lot more experienced at cycle speedway than me). The gate went up and I quickly realised that 4 laps round a short course might just hurt!

Cut up on the first corner by a small child. Much sqeaking by me as I tried to avoid crashing straight in to him. Much goading by the crowd for being chicken. Nearly wiped out on the second corner. Cut up again on third corner. Try not to ride over small child (I'm sure it wouldn't be good form). Foot out to help drift round the fourth and fifth corners. Bit more speed. Very sketchy sixth corner. Shut my eyes on the seventh corner. Fail miserably to catch the children and come in dead last!


My day kind of continued in the same vein. Beaten into a pulp by children, frightening myself by drifting wildly round corners and nearly riding into other riders. But everyone else was sufferingthe same fate at the hands of the children.

Given our overall incompetence, the commissaire, decided that the children should have their own final and we could fight it out amongst ourselves.

That's when it got nasty!

For a bunch of friends, we gave no quarter. Elbows out. Cutting eachother up. Even some pushing out of the way (yes, you know who you are!)

I made it into the "not quite the slowest" final and decided to try the dirty tricks like the children did and it paid off. Cutting up the last rider at the first corner and managing to keep him just behind me from then on in meant I didn't finish DFL.

Despite the cold, the humiliation at the hands of children and the mouth full of red grit from the track, a fun day was had by all. About the best day's racing we've had in a long time!

Is cycle speedway the next thing to have a bash at?

Jac
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Deep Breath

Yesterday afternoon I went back to the scene of the crime and it's fair to say, it was more of a challenge than I expected.

I know I've lost a lot of fitness (and put on a bit of weight) since the crash, so I've been putting in the effort over the last few weeks to try to get some of my fitness back. Going to the gym, taking the long, hilly route home and I've even been going running a few times a week!

So, when a friend suggested a ride at Innerleithen, I figured I should give it a bash. After all, I've got over the fear and I'm feeling a bit fitter again and it was time to face that demon.

The day didn't start well....hair appointment in the morning went well until they ran out of hot water mid-shampoo. So I was later than I had planned setting off to Innerleithen. Quick text to say I'm running late, but on my way. Then the road was closed and there was a big diversion. Second text to say I'd be quite a bit late now.

I eventually arrived feeling a bit stressed and surprisingly anxious!

We set off up the hill and almost straight away I started to feel a bit overwhelmed. I knew I should be able to ride at this pace, but I was really struggling. I was getting myself into a bit of a tizz and the more I tried to stay calm, the more nervous I was getting.

I knew it was ridiculous, but I realised I was going to have to face this demon on my own. So, a few deep breaths, slightly teary eyed, I made my apologies and set off on my own. A few minutes later and Chris caught me up...he knew how nervous I was so decided to ride with me...just to make sure.

The climb up to Minch Moor was tough. I kept plodding at my own pace, but I was in a much more noodly gear than I would usually be. I decided not to take the short cut and to keep pushing on up to the top, just to prove to myself that I could. The descent from the top, which is usually a super quick, whoopy ride was a bit more subdued than usual, but as I rode, my confidence started to grow a bit and I decided not to take the chicken run around the rocky drops.

I made the first one, went a bit faster off the second one, then let go of the brakes all together on the third. By the time I caught up with Chris at the next marker post, I was starting to grin.

There was a bit of a diversion because of logging work, so Chris suggested we go a slightly different way. After a few minutes I was totally lost, until we popped out on a fire break at the top of the downhill runs. Chris had planned this all along so that I'd have to ride some of the more techy trails and test myself.

We agreed that I'd just see Chris down at the next fire road so that I could mince down at my own pace.

I watched Chris head off down the trail and felt the nerves build up again.

Deep breath. I've done this before. I know I can do this. Another deep breath, then I set off after Chris.

I had to give myself a bit of a talking to, but I managed not to do any panic braking and made it down to the fire road in one piece.

Did I want to do the next bit?

Deep breath....yes. What the heck, let's do it.

This time I managed to keep Chris in sight, so I must have been going a bit faster. There was a bit of an incident with a tree, but I made it again and wasn't feeling nervous any more.

Then we were on to the last bit of trail back down to the car park. I'd made it and I'd faced the demon of the crash site.

It was an incredibly frustrating ride because it was clear that I'm not as fit as I was and it was more of a challenge than it should have been, but I proved to myself that I can still ride the scary stuff (okay, so I rode it slowly, but I rode it!).

It'll be a wee while before I'm back to where I was before the crash, but at least now I know I can still do it.

I just need to decide now whether to sign up for the enduro at Innerleithen next weekend.....

Jac
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Onwards...

Regular readers will remember the guest post from Lesley back in August, and her start back to cycling fitness after a diagnosis of (and subsequently successful treatment for), breast cancer. Well, an update email popped into the inbox from her, and it seems a landmark has been reached...

I’ve just got back from a long weekend in the Yorkshire Dales with Rich and as I ride into work my legs still scream whenever I threaten to actually put some effort in, needless to say it was a brilliant weekend. 


The weather forecast was not a pleasant one, but since breast cancer earlier this year my attitude to weather has somewhat changed. Whilst packing for the weekend I just couldn’t decide which bike to take – road or mountain? Due to the surgery I’ve had I’ve only ridden on the road so far and have been itching to get back on my mountain bike but I know my fitness isn’t what it used to be and my upper body strength is considerably weaker. However, the mountain bike won and with it packed in the van I knew exactly which ride we were going to do.


Back to this time last year, along with a group of friends, we rode a superb route in the Dales from Ingleton. Everything was perfect, the sky was blue and clear, the sun was up there, the air was crisp, the scenery simply beautiful, the trails quiet and the company good. You know, one of those rides that stays with you long after you’re back home. As it happens, due to last winter’s weather and my ‘unfortunate’ start to this year that ride was the last decent off road ride I did. Now I’m not sure why, perhaps it’s something to do with starting where I left off but as the months of my recovery have gone by I have become slightly obsessed with doing it again.


Well last weekend that’s exactly what I did.


The wild and windy weather was ‘challenging’, meaning a few hills had to be pedalled down as well as a few hills pushed up, but I soaked up every minute just incredibly happy to be there again. And as I rode out of the Clapham tunnels, knowing that the end was only a few miles along the lane I was grinning like an idiot. 


I’d done it, I’m back where I want to be and I can’t tell you how good that feels.

Macaroni Cheese

I've now had almost three months off the bike following my ungracious crash back in October - I did sneak a few rides in early on, but got a stern telling off from my doc who told me not to ride until I stopped getting headaches, dizzy spells and wobbling....that took until late December! Then, would you believe, I got a stinking chest infection!.

Over the last few weeks, I've been out for a few rides and I've really struggled. Although I'd managed to do a few, quite dull, turbo sessions since October, not being on the bike for such a long time really meant that I'd lost an awful lot of fitness and the chest infection left me wheezing and coughing. So rides where I should have been blasting along having great fun, were hard work and a wee bit depressing to be honest. Struggling to keep up, toiling up hills and just feeling like I've got no strength in my legs at all and wheezing away like an old woman.

I know I'm no Gunn-Rita, but it shouldn't be this tough!

And to make matters worse, I've got the fear! Descents I usually love are making me nervous, which is not good!

So, on New Year's Eve, I decided I needed to get out and do a fun ride at a leisurely pace, so I suggested a local ride on some trails around town, mixing up some rooty stuff, quick stuff, some practice on drops and jumps I know I can do...just to remind myself that I can ride a bike.

Well, the climb out of town wasn't exactly a breeze, but it wasn't as tough as when I did it a few weeks ago. Then I rode the steps I'd wimped out of a few weeks ago when the fear took hold. Then I made it up that short sharp climb. Up that long slog and managed to keep chatting. Then we were at the highest point....it wasn't as bad as I expected.

Then for the fun rooty descent....managed to hang on to Chris' wheel, just, so I must have been going at a good pace. Jumped those few drops...still on Chris' wheel. Leaned into those greasy corners and didn't panic when the bike wobbled under me...just dabbed and pushed on.

And I'm smiling and giggling!

Rode the steps...and the next, steeper, ones (opted out of riding the concrete steps of doom, but I wouldn't usually ride them anyhow).

It's all starting to come together. Now that I'm having fun, I'm starting to go a bit quicker too and keeping up with Chris, just.

Then it dawned on me...macaroni cheese...when I'm feeling under the weather, I like a big bowl of macaroni cheese to cheer myself up. This ride is my macaroni cheese ride. It's the ride I do that reminds me that I can ride a bike and that I can ride up hills and back down again and that I can do it quickly as long as I'm having fun.

I've got lots of bike plans for this year, so, I think I need a few more macaroni cheese rides of just having fun and messing about and then hopefully, I'll be back to my old self and maybe some of that fun will get my legs back into shape too!

Jac
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Ride with the fast girls

I saw a tweet from a random girl I'd never met about a ladies' ride she was organising, open to all, described as "easy paced". Despite being very aware that I'm woefully unfit at the moment, I decided to give it a try. I've been muchly lamenting of late a lack of fun, comparably-paced ride buddies, (the Boyf being too fast, the female friends mostly wanting to just cycle to the pub) and here was a great chance to change that. And if my legs protested too much at the unaccustomed effort I could always find the nearest station.

It was set to be a freezing (1-4 oC day) but crisp and clear and so I piled on the layers and set off, feeling keen and eager.

The turnout was surprisingly good for such a freezing December day - 14 ladies - with a wide range of riders with 8 different passports between us, with standards varying from the insanely good to the very good. Oh, and me. Ah.

No matter. The route was flat (phew) scenic (many sighs with happiness at the sight of sunshine on the Thames) and there was much interesting and varied chatter to distract me from the soreness of legs and the rasping lungs. A brief coffee stop to warm us on our way to the pub at an absolutely glorious spot complete with good bike storage. Genius.


By the time we got back to Richmond Park, 65 miles in (by far the longest distance I've ridden since the Marmotte in July) I was feeling the soreness and the tiredness and found myself dropped on the first hill. The girls waited, gently chivvied me back onto the group and then towed me all the way home. Who knew that I'd one day find myself getting a tow from a Dutch pro rider eh?

Beyond the flim flam

Finally we're beyond the Autumnal flim flam. The weather isn't cheating any more. It looks cold out. It is cold out. It's long tights and winter boots and proper gloves. All the way through until Spring. No more getting caught out with chilly digits as you chanced fingerless gloves, no more slow cooking in a winter jersey on a wrongfully hot November day. Wrap up. Ride.

Vikki

Cold feet

It's getting cold now. And because cyclists' feet are stuck in a fixed position, they get cold in a way that runners' feet never do. To add to the fun, most cycling shoes are designed with vents, to allow a refreshing breeze on a summer's day to cool the foot. Cooling the foot is not, however, what most people would wish for at this time of year.

To counter Freezing Feet syndrome, most cyclists use a combination of

• multiple pairs of socks
• toe warmers / overshoes (neoprene boots that go over the shoes)
• oversocks (socks that go over the shoes)

But if you have rubbish circulation, despite all of the above, you'll probably get cold feet anyway. Properly cold feet that send spikes of pain through your feet when you press on the pedals. Not fun. So I've looked into the various new bits of technology that promise increased warmth, even when it's wet.

Re-chargeable heated insoles, either with clunky ankle battery which make it look like you're out on parole (about £25) or cleverly-hidden-battery-in-insole (£100)

One-use chemical heat pads look like tea bags you stick to your socks. Cheapish (about a pound a go if you buy in bulk) but no friend of the environment and not that realistic an option for the to/from work scenario.

This winter, due to a bargain in the sales, I'm trying winter boots. Behold (right) their clunky selves. I grant you, they're not objects of beauty, but despite their lack of visual appeal, they do make up for it in the warmth factor. I haven't yet tested their (advertised) waterproof ability. I suspect, that as with all keeping-feet-dry gear, there is the main unavoidable issue of the big hole for a leg, which then lets water into the foot. But if they're warm-er and dry-er than usual, that's enough for me. AND I won't spend 10 minutes in the morning running up and down stairs looking for extra pairs of socks / overshoes and muttering about being late.

Puncture fairy

It's been a while since I had a visit from the puncture fairy. Several months, definitely. But I pride myself on being competent at changing tyres (if nothing else, mechanically) and always carry with me the necessary stuff. So last night when I got a puncture shortly after I left work at 7pm, cross and tired, I calmly walked to the nearest bus stop so I could see what I was doing and set to work.

I removed the gubbins from the saddle bag. I removed the light from the handlebars. I turned the bike upside down. I loosened the brakes. I took the wheel out. I applied tyre lever No.1. I then attempted to get in tyre lever No. 2. Try as I might (and there were a LOT of tries), I could not get the second lever in anywhere other than next to No.1. And when I tried to move it along, to loosen the tyre from the rim, it was absolutely jammed solid. My combined hand / arm strength was no match for this tyre. After 10 minutes of rapidly improving swearwords, I had to admit defeat, walk to the station, get the train and walk home.

Cold

Late for supper

Late for my longed-for glass of wine

And with a huge dent in my pride.

This weekend the boyf shall be removing the old tyres and I shall be applying new ones, ones that I am able to actually remove / apply myself.

EDIT : The boyf (who normally only uses his hands to remove / replace tyres) had to resort to tyre levers to get the tyres off. And he broke a lever in the process. Clearly those are stubborn tyres. I feel slightly less useless as a consequence.