Hats off to the Met office. Apparently we have just had the warmest month of May on record in the UK or England, or somewhere. Perhaps the whole world, seems likely. I don’t know exactly where because I haven’t been paying enough attention to the weather over the last 48 hours since I came back from a gloriously sunny ride to the Bere Cider café with Steve on Sunday. We had hoped to go to Langport, but one of their cafés has become decidedly cyclist-unfriendly, and consequently the other was overflowing with Lycra and merino-clad, fair-weather seekers. And fun seekers.
Our family was quite fortunate though as we did benefit from a fantastic holiday in the Maya area of Mexico back in late March and early April. It was hot and sunny every day, and we had a wonderful time. Junior is now 23 and it was very, very scary when he decided to climb a fairly precipitous pyramid in a very isolate jungle site, well out of the range of mobile phone signals, towns with hospitals or anything vaguely resembling health and safety. I suppose it’s good for him, and good for us as parents, to indulge in the kind of moderate risk-taking that I probably thought quite tame back in the 1970s. This is him in the blue shirt going up, anbout halfway to the top, and trust me, it’s a lot steeper than it looks. But I couldn’t watch him come down.
I haven’t seen much evidence of this warmth though in May that they talked about so much. A quick internet search revealed that it was an average warmth caused by a lack of Spring frosts. The daytime temperatures were generally shit, and from what I experienced, murky and/or dull and/or wet. So Sunday was a very welcome tonic.
But there were as I said, hundreds of cyclists out on the roads on Sunday. Not that I can blame them. As it was my last ride for a while, I too was desperate to get out into the rare 2024 Spring sunshine, and was delighted that the café at Bere was so quiet. A lovely chat and ride before, during and after, enabled by a very fit Steve. Thanks for the shelter back across the moors. In fact it was such a lovely day that we ducked into Sweet’s cafe, immediately post lunch, for a quick ice-cream. To be fair, I did do the longest ride I’d done for quite a while. Although my hill-climbing has suffered by (lack of) virtue of not riding up any hills recently, I have been chugging up and down the back lanes and gravel paths in May. All of which has helped build a certain, if not high, level of fitness.
The reward for which came yesterday, when my knee surgeon gave what I took to be a compliment, saying my leg was in “fine shape”, just before he drew two arrows in indelible marker pen, pointing directly to the right knee. It was oddly comforting to know that despite all the high technology interventions, monitoring and minimal invasive nature of meniscus surgery these days, some things do need an old-fashioned touch. Not that I’m complaining in any way. The internet, home to all medical truths, is full of stories of the wrong thing being done, all for the want of a good marker pen.
The tear in the meniscus was too bad to repair, so it’s been trimmed. Apparently this is a quicker operation to recover from, which is good, a slightly higher chance of future osteoarthritis, which is bad, but then to do nothing presented an ongoing risk of further deterioration requiring major surgery and almost definite bone on bone contact. I did the injury about seven months ago and tried physio, exercises and it clearly was getting no better. It wasn’t fully functional on the bike - I couldn’t go hard or ride long hills, and I couldn’t really walk longer distances than a half mile or so.
So it had to be done. I’ve got crutches, more to take a bit of pressure off for a couple of weeks, pain is minimal and well-controlled by just ibuprofen and I am feeling confident. Before you say anything I will follow the advice of my CMO (Chief Medical Officer), aka Mrs Mendip Rouleur, not to be too impatient. The most surprising thing has actually been the impact of the general anaesthetic because I’m still tired today, despite lots of sleep, but it has been only 24 hours as I write, since I came round from the operation.
I also know I am very, very fortunate to be able to get it done relatively quickly. It’s also a very, very minor condition and “procedure”, so a speedy recovery is very doable, mainly thanks to those legs being in a fine condition.
A big thanks to Mark Cox if he’s reading this. Or even if he is not. I was originally supposed to be doing the Somerset 100 as usual in May, but of course all this malarkey put paid to that, even though the operation got delayed by two weeks to the beginning of June. But it was so kind of him to allow me 12 months to enter and complete the course. So here is my plan:
1. Try not to eat too much for the next month.
2. Gentle and easy riding in July then August, building up to a few hills towards the end of the month
3. Off to the Cevennes in September, for a mixture of warm weather flat road, tree-lined boulevards, hunting the haunts of the ancestors, enjoying the food & culture, and maybe, just maybe a few gentle gradients.
4. Come back and do the Somerset 100 on or near my 60th Birthday. Weather and fitness permitting. If I wimp out and do the 100km, I can call it 60 at 60.
The hospital did offer me the non-slip socks as a leaving present, but I declined on the basis that they weren’t Rapha, or even Merino wool, and that shade of chartreuse doesn’t quite match the lightweight Brevet jersey I have. But is was a very kind and tempting offer. No one wants to think about the surgical pants.
I do have a big event coming up in a couple of weeks time over in Cardiff, which I’m hoping I’ll be able to go to because I’ll be safe to drive by then. I should be. The nurse told me that if I can crush a matchbox with my foot that indicates I’m safe enough to brake for an emergency stop. I thought about asking her what psi I’d need for that, but decided against. The constant questions about how soon could I ride a static bike, a bike on the road, a bike uphill and a bike in the mountains, had clearly led her to the belief that I was some kind of obsessive freak, and I didn’t want to give her any more evidence. But I’m pretty sure the Principality stadium, middle tier, should be fine. I’ll take the crutches, I might even get the Hat
