This is the End

I have not been blogging recently. You can't really count the poem I wrote last Monday night, it was not related to cycling in the slightest, just my musings when I couldn't sleep.

A friend remarked that I wasn't blogging because I don't have anything to say. Maybe. Life goes on, we go riding, I commute to work, I work, it doesn't get easier but I am getting FASTER!!!!. And Cav keeps winning. Thank goodness.

I've done a few sportives and some great riding with friends and both at the same time. The Cheddar sportive last weekend was great, as was Friday's trip to Dartmoor to see the Tour of Britain. Another friend made a great observation about my picture, that all the ground weren't looking at Simon Yeats's winning attack, but down the hill for Bradley Wiggins. Media icon.

Still Bradley's back is unbelievably straight and he sure has great cadence. As all the fans would know.

But of course, before we all fall out of love with cycling, disgusted at so many bandwagon jumpers, let's just remember what is important again shall we?

And like a game of chess, I am wandering about my long-term strategy and intermediate tactics. For the blog I mean. Because I actually have quite a lot to say, I'm just not sure you are ready to hear it yet. To show from where I came. But you will be. And it all means something. It can't not.

Late night surfing for answers

Late night surfing for answers

Tragedy, suffering, visible mourning, everyone sees.

The silent, stealthy pernicious hole appears as if,

From nowhere, but unfelt unless you have one

Like a collapsed star in the middle of your heart.

 

You carry on, you get better, you even plan

For a changed future you hope will be different

But on your birthday, there are no candles and

No-one can ever bake a cake as nice again

 

So you stay up and search for some answers

In the songs or the music on YouTube

And sometimes you almost articulate what

Is going on in that missing bit of you

 

But the rest of the world goes blithely on

With its trains and talking and humdrum days

Whilst you look out at a sky you can’t share

In the way that it’s really meant to be

One battled like mad, fought to the end

The other welcomed but feared it

And your time, my time, is coming soon

So watch the sunset, and feel your heart

 

This

How arm warmers & gilets are the best cycling kit ever, and ten other random thoughts

I'm doing this sportive on Sunday. No idea what the connection between Lewis Carroll and Malvern is, and I haven't got time or inclination to google it. Let me know if you find out.

I have been doing a lot of riding and not a lot of blogging or much social media in general. But that may change, or not. Tomorrow I'm off to the Academy of Football to see the Irons take on Stoke, much like I did for my first ever match nearly 42 years ago.

Anyway, here are my random thoughts, the intro was the deep and meaningful bit.

1. Anniversaries and Birthdays.

2. Bike lights and clear sunglasses

3. Spiders' webs

4. Is 2013 the windiest year in the history of the world?

5. How quickly it all changes

6. No I don't need a rest, I need to ride my bike even more, like now when I'm riding 8 days out of 11

7. From Monday I have got, or maybe get to, take seven days off riding.

8. Some people can't resist changing documents or giving you their opinion. It's wearing. But I always win wars of attrition so look out.

9. Non-sticky glue never is.

10. Some people change their name when they get married and others don't. And some do and don't at the same time.

We just walk on by

So now I understand what all the fuss is about!

For the first time ever I have entered the mysterious world of Audax. Actually it's not that mysterious at all really, just a bit different to what I have been used to with organised rides. In a number of respects. Friendlier for sure. And more relaxed and informal. But don't tell people it's not as serious, for there is a whole other world of competitiveness and rules and leagues going on, the like of which I have yet to fathom.

The audax in question was the Three Towers Audax, starting from North Petherton village hall. So as James, Trevor, Martyn and I were all riding, it made sense to meet up at Martyn's work to be sure of some parking and facilities.

Despite some very heavy overnight rain, and a nagging blustery wind from the north-west, it was a pleasant enough morning, and the four of us duly went in and paid our £8. Yes, that's not a typo. For that you get everything you want/need with the possible exception of mechanical support. You get a route card, but you also get a whole heap of friendly people to help you out if you are not sure, and we picked up Paul from Wedmore who did a sterling job on that front.

But really, do you need a signed route? Mechanical support is nice to have I guess, but I know of few people that have ever needed it. Timing? As Martyn says, I have a Garmin and a bike computer, and anyway, with a mass start at 9AM, they time you anyway. With a watch. And a pen.

The route itself was named after the three towers it passes: Burrowbridge, King Alfred's and Glastonbury. It was fairly flat and with the odd lump and bump, and of course the vicious little kick up past King Alfred's Tower. I was probably the slowest in the group today, Trevor is so strong and I can't believe how good Ed has become this year, powering up the climbs and cruising effortlessly on the flat.

A few knowing souls had this device on their bars so they could follow the route card.

For the tech-savvy generation who may not have seen one before, it's called a clipboard.

A nice reception of tea and cakes awaiting us in Ditcheat village hall (one of the controls) and this was replicated at the finish, as well as baked beans on toast, which is possibly the best recovery food ever!

The route also includes our ride to and from Martyn's factory, and you can see that for the second week in a row, I wasn't hanging about. Hanging on, yes, I'll grant you, to Trevor's slipstream mainly, but I did do the odd turn on the front, and pleasingly was asked to slow down at one point. You have to take you achievements where you can, these things don't happen that often in that company.

Elsewhere this week, Junior and I have been Gromit-hunting, a sport that is sweeping through large swathes of the Bristol population this Summer. Yesterday we knocked off 36 to take out total to date to 42, which means we have 38 to go. We started pretty early on Saturday morning and by 10AM there was a huge queue to get into Harvey Nicholls to see their sculpture. It was almost as vicious as the bloke at the top of the Peyresourde.

By lunchtime there were hordes of families swarming all over the Gromits so Junior and I retired for the day to re-group in a week or so. But here is my favourite to date:

This is for someone who needs to hold onto her dreams. She knows who she is, play it loud and annoy everyone!

Shining above you

I admit it, I was sceptical about Ride London. First of all it is run by the organisation that runs (deliberate btw) the London Marathon, so what could they possibly know about bike rides? Second, Boris Johnson is involved. I'm not a fan, he is, as one of my former colleagues was once described by one of his school teachers, rather struck by the cleverness of his own answers.

And of course the so-called "ballot" to enter, was nothing of the sort. It was a rigged operation in political correctness and an attempt to rob the MAMIL of his natural habit - the closed-road sportive. And of course there would be so many newbies about that there will be crashes and bad riding galore.

But I'll admit that I was wrong, on so, so many levels. Not that it wasn't a logistical challenge to get there, although that was solved by my own genius of sleeping at the the Academy of football, an honour and a privilege. And by being very fortunate in having a friend, aka The Cycling Mayor who was kind enough to do all the registration legwork when I fouled up my dates and ended up coming back on that day from Scorchio.

Jennifer will give a great write up as usual on her blog, I have a few observations about my day. I was at the front of my starting pen so was able to get away reasonably sharpish, out of the Olympic Park and down the deserted and empty A12. Dual carriageway. In the middle of London!

Pretty soon I was through the Limehouse tunnel, into the City and whizzing past the Tower of London. With groups forming, fast ones on the right, slower coaches on the left, there was always a wheel to follow. And with no junctions, no traffic, no signals to obey, and barely a rise in the road, it was a blast through the City and West End and out across Chiswick Bridge and into Richmond Park. I think I covered the first 20 miles in the first hour.

Despite the crowded road the standard of riding was actually better than on many a sportive I have been on recently. And there were crowds of people cheering us on by the side of the road. Particularly in some of the town centres, Richmond, Kingston, Pyrford, and special mention to Dorking!

A couple of small hills, Leith and Box, slowed progress a bit out in Surrey. But once over those I seemed to collect a few groups behind me too and if anything, the pace intensified. It certainly did after I topped up on full-fat coke a gel and an energy bar, although this didn't do much for my stomach's sense of well-being! The food stops were OK, but a bit chaotic, so I preferred to stay self-sufficient.

Laurens didn't record the full distance as the satellite reception is not too good in the tunnels, but an average moving speed of 18.2 mph and total official time of 5 hours 45 minutes is none too shabby for the 100 miles! Leave it on the road just about sums up my route although it was actually the West Ham car park which we returned to through open roads later on. Oh the shame!

If you have followed these pages before, you will know that I was sponsored to do the ride for Macmillan cancer care, and you will also know why. It is exactly a year since my Mum was diagnosed, the last normal weekend had been our family trip to the Olympics, so there is a sense of coming full circle. I even cycled past a house we used to live in when we were kids. I am very grateful for all the sponsorship that I have received, and it was also great to get specific "come on Macmillan" cheers from the roadside, over and over again.

I had my teary moments, of course I did. You know what, I'm actually human! But I also feel that it was a very cathartic opportunity to move on. I'm still sad, but I think my Mum in particular would be telling me to get a grip and pull myself together. Can you see where I get it from?

So this is for them, and Ride London was the best way I could remember them. On my bike, in the fresh air, going fast,

And this may be the cheesiest video ever but I still love them.

Climb every mountain

Just a short post today, a week after my return from the Pyrenees. It's a bit like BC and AD, only less religious. Maybe.

I'm in mourning. Not that it was much of a shock. Out of form sprinter with poorly-organised lead-out train loses to in-form sprinter with well-drilled model of , err, efficiency. Let's leave the stereotypes there before I get into trouble. My Mum would be so proud, it's all her fault really.

What Cav really needs is a brilliant Australian lead-out man to sort it out for him. Or not a lanky lad brought up in Kilburn riding for the Belgians, that might help. Well he was born in Ghent so technically he is one.

It wasn't as hot as in was going up the Port de la Bonaigua a week ago last Wednesday. Not was it as long, after all 55kms of continuous ascent is hard to beat anywhere, but it has been quite warm in England this week. It topped 30C on my way up The Wrangle on Friday as I came home from work. About 30 minutes later as I was starting my descent of Shipham Hill I had one of those awkward moments, when someone you know nearly kills you with their van. I was doing about 25mph in a built-up area but she was gracious enough to say she hadn't seen me.

It was a fortuitous meeting though as it reminded me that she does personal training and weight-loss stuff. Something I'm determined to do as the big 5-0 approaches next year. I really struggled with form for the first 6 months of 2013, but I feel I have turned a corner. Now I want to see an open road with a tailwind and a slight downhill gradient running to September 2014!

For the fourth year in succession Jennifer and I rode the Great Weston sportive. It is more of a fun-ride to be honest, and strangely it starts and finishes in different places. For most, this involves complicated logistics of buses or friendly wives or other such stuff. For us it means getting up early and riding into Bristol, doing the ride, then riding home. This also makes it more of a reasonable distance, but because I like to keep Jennifer on her toes we never ride the same way into Bristol.

Still, as far as comparisons go I can report that this was the latest in a line of four improvements for the said event, each year I have done the 85 (or so) miles faster and with less effort. So I do seem to be fitter even if I am heavier. Although weather plays its part too, but it's enough of a circular route to make valid comparisons.  Still in my one-man campaign to prove all this data I keep actually has any purpose other than to feed a compulsive need to feed an obsession, at last I can prove something inconsequential. I'm winning my competition with myself!

My main preoccupation today was insects. How many insects does the Tour de France kill every year. In 85 miles today I killed about a dozen, but I think if you are in the middle of the peloton you probably kill fewer. Then again, those in breaks or sprinting to get back to the main bunch must murder dozens. I would conservatively estimate that the total for all 21 stages is around the 100,000 per annum. Based on 20 insects per rider per stage, with 180 average riders per stage.

If you are sadder than me, you may come up with a different figure.

Keep it to yourself.

French cycling at its best

Day 2 dawned much as Day 1 had ended. Very warm, bright sunshine, and a building full of excited cyclists. We had travelled back from Foix to the base of Pyractif in Bertren, and awoken to the tranquil sounds of an erratic church clock and an errant red male chicken.

This time the atmosphere out on the roads was a little less febrile, perhaps because we were away from a main town, or perhaps because it was just earlier in the day. All the talk was of how Froome and the Sky boys had already won the race, but if you saw that Stage 9, it turned out to be an exciting and tense affair, suggesting that the race may not be as one-sided as had been thought.

We all cycled up the long valley to Luchon, through the sprint point, where naturally Stuart had to win the mock sprint, and then for us at least, into the town to get some water.

The roads were by now closed to traffic, and this was some 5-6 hours before the race was due to come through. I had cycled down this side of the Peyresourde before, a couple of times in fact. I remembered it as being quite short and pleasant, but of course, going up an 11km climb is not quite like that. The heat was intense, and there were loads of spectators, encouraging us from the roadside as we made our way up the climb.

It's a contrast to the boys from South Wales who lobbed stones at me on the Dragon ride in June, this genuine warmth and joy at others cycling up their mountains. The main obstacle, besides the heat, were the gendarmes. They must have been given instructions to stop all cyclists and make them walk, and we had to do this three or four times, before getting back on and riding another kilometre or two to the next set.

Eventually, just in front of the col sign, we were forced to stop for good. Stuart and I chose a spot amongst the French and settled in to wait. Which we didn't have too long to do, for the Tour de France caravan was soon upon us. Lorry after lorry, cars dressed up as tyres, or houses, or 2CV, came rolling past. Tremendous excitement, engagement and a massive scrambling for tat ensued, as freebies of minimal value were viciously fought over by the crowds of grannies, old men, kids (big and small alike). Our closest rival for swag, a 70 year old French patriarch, was very adept at skewering the goods with his pointed stick, before stashing them in a large rucksack his wife had brought for the purpose.

It's hard to imagine the cynical English having such a fun day out with so little to show for it. That's what I love about that day, the sheer exuberance, the fact that whole families make a day of standing by the roadside, even if the understand little of cycling and they know their man won't win! It's French cycling fun at its best.

After that it was a case of waiting for the main action, the Tour de France. Which duly came and went, and by now you will all know what happened, the Sky team had a bad day, but Froome was strong enough to stay at the head of the field and preserve his lead.

Plenty of good photos though. As you can see, we were withing touching distance of the riders, in fact some of the team cars passed frighteningly close and frighteningly fast. The racing was interesting to see, especially the speed that they charge up the mountains.


Spare a thought if you will for a certain Mr Cavendish, cleverly hiding in the cars to pull him the last few feet up the mountain, and suffering in the Gruppetto. You can spot his UK national champions jersey in the penultimate photo.

After that it was time to re-trace our path back down to Luchon and then on to Bertren, and catch the the highlights later on the TV. Avoiding thousands of spectators was a bit hairy, but once down a couple of kilometres we were able to let rip and enjoy the fast, sweeping descent on a mainly closed road.

The rest of our trip consisted of day rides from Luchon, and you can see the photos of that on my Facebook page. It was a great trip, plenty of climbs, a trip to Spain, lots and lots of funny moments, but mainly just messing about on bikes for fun. I rode about 400 miles, so around 50+ a day, and the Tourmalet, Mente and Port de Bales were as tough as ever.

But Pyractif are supremely helpful, well-organised and know both their cycling and their landscapes. We had a mix of escorted, supported and solo rides, a cafe trip one day to Aspet, a re-enactment of a Tour stage (where I famously cycled up the wrong valley (who cares it was a nice gentle climb), and virtually no rain at all. One shower on the descent of the Port de Bales and that was it, the temperature never dropped below 30C and the sun shone for 7 glorious days.

Oh, and the food is to die for! If you want to go to the Pyrenees, go there, you will have a fantastic time. I'm thinking of organising a trip there for the ACG next year (and anyone else who is interested). If we can get a group together of up to 9-10 of us we can make it great value. The cycling isn't all HC climbs and epic days (although there are plenty of those too), there is rolling countryside too. But I can guarantee you great food, pleasant motorists, and wonderful scenery. And the company will be good too.

Interested? It will be fun. I've come to think that the best rides are the ones you do with your friends, no matter where you are, but if you can do it somewhere warm, pleasant and different it's a bonus. I'll be canvassing your opinions very soon.