Flying high above the sadness and the fear

I rode to work a couple of times this week. On Wednesday, at Barrow Gurney lights, a car tried to go, where there wasn't space for it to go as I took the corner at about 20 mph. As I was taking the immediate right turn down the back road, beautifully called "Wild Country Lane" (and there are a few good reasons why that name is apt), I stayed right, indicated and turned.

I'm not going to list the stream of invective and abuse from the man, sorry, the idiot, driving the car. "Arse" was involved, safe to say it wasn't tolerant, mutually-respecting language.

I sighed, inwardly and outwardly, I really did. The poor soul would be held up by the traffic jam I could see he was headed towards in about 10 seconds. I'm just so tired of the noise and the abuse you get, seemingly just because you are riding a bike on the road. And holding the line as well and not cowering in the gutter and the potholes.

 

All of the commuting this week took place in grey and drizzly conditions of varying degrees. Lots of mud, lots of fog, and that dampness that comes with Autumn. Some of that lifted a bit yesterday when junior MR and I went for a walk down to the village along the Strawberry Line. Besides having a proper, and wide-ranging conversation, we watched a football match at the park, did a few errands and looked through the window of the car showroom.

It was the first time I had that thing where you think, "I must send Mum a picture of this, she'd be thrilled", before realising. She loved her sports cars.

So despite the near-freezing temperature, it was so lovely to see the sun shining in a crystal-clear sky when I looked out of the window this morning. Is it a metaphor? I hope so.

And even better, by the miracle of e-mail, social-networking and talking to each other, we managed to assemble six riders (Martyn, Trevor, Paul, Steve & a worryingly-full-of-potential offspring, Isaac) for a group ride towards the Eastern Mendips. This is not a territory we frequent that much, but holds much promise, especially at this time of year.

Views for one thing, spectacular vistas from the ridge line above Crosscombe towards the levels, Glastonbury, Brent Knoll and the Poldens. This is a view I took later on which shows how clear the air was today after all that mist of the last week.

Then as we circled back and came down Constitution Hill into Wells, we were afforded a splendid view of the cathedral. And there were other sights too, the trees, hanging on to the last few remaining leaves, offer some spectacular last gasps of colour before the monochrome of Winter sets in. 

Our coffee stop at the Rock Cake Cafe coincided with the arrival/departure/etc. of about a dozen or so other cyclists of different groups and varieties, and it all made for a very convivial atmosphere. Paul decided to head straight back to Brent Knoll with a group he knew, and we did a swap, acquiring Mark from their group for the rest of the ride.

Meeting up slightly later meant we avoided any lingering ice and all made it home in one piece, always good.

Our plan had not survived contact with the terrain, and so after a little jaunt up to the top of Old Frome road, we circled back into Shepton, where after an unplanned detour (see what happens when I don't have a Garmin, I get lost!) we headed up the road on the other side of the Crosscombe valley back to Wells.

Gradually people peeled off, first to go were the Downs, man and boy, the latter may be lightning up hills, but his stick-thin frame (it's not about the bike!) finds it hard going on longer jaunts, especially on the flat. What's that saying? "Youth and skill are no match for old age and treachery".

I suppose I was next, as I headed for Mudgley Hill and Rug Hill and Cheddar, and the rest headed for the flat lands by the sea. I had enjoyed the company tremendously, and it was also nice to have some time to myself, enjoy the fresh air and let my mind wander a bit.

Today's route looked like this, well for me it did anyway, and included an extra loop into Winscombe to make it over the 50 mile mark, necessitating a climb of Alpe de Winscombe. Just to make sure I circled around the Barton road, and came up the lane. With the trees and the low-hanging sun, I took a couple of minutes to capture the moment, the beauty and reflect that this year I really have had some wonderful support from an awful lot of people. And sometimes just riding the bike in the sun, along the ridge looking out over the landscape, is enough to transcend the murk, the mist and even the idiots who are in too much of a hurry to see we are all going to the same place.

Enjoy the ride. I did.

Don't tell me what to do

I own four bikes at the moment. Three standard road bikes and a mountain bike, the latter is slowly dying a rusty and corrosive death in my shed alongside a hybrid bike bought for Mrs Mendip Rouleur when she had a short-lived burst of enthusiasm for cycling about six years ago.

Although I'm not riding much at the moment, today's ACG ride was my first and only one of the week (and btw the week runs from Monday to Sunday), and I have only ridden 661 miles since I came back from the Pyrenees at the beginning of September. With the sportive season drawing to a close, and frequent trips to London during the week, and my Dad at weekends, there have been few opportunities for long rides, commuting and social rides respectively.

And my motivation is not really sparked yet by the thought of 2013, well it is in one sense. I am very, very excited at the thought of going to watch the Tour de France in the mountains, my favourite mountains too. And doing some riding with Stuart will be great fun too, and a couple of the days will be really demanding. But it's not a "challenge" in the way that this year's trip was.

So when it's wet, a bit cold and the roads are very muddy and full of leaves, it is hard to get out and ride. And it also means that the bike gets a nice coating of mud and grit, and when the really cold weather comes, it will get a salt wash as well. So all this punishment is a bit of a disincentive to riding, and I have been half-looking for a "winter bike" for the last 18 months. Only thing is, I can't really justify a fourth road bike, especially as the third one is locked in my sister-in-laws garage in Ireland, and would do the job for me.

The idea would be to have a second-hand bike, or one coming to the end of its days, that could be ridden into the ground, never cleaned, and robust enough to take the Winter punishment. As well as fast enough to get me about at a reasonable speed. And yes, maybe even to ride the Hell of the North Cotswolds on. Looks like I need to bring the bike back from Ireland.

Today was an ACG ride, and I decided to do this as today's route. A few hills, some flat, the seaside, and a nice downhill at the end to finish. And there were seven of us to boot, great company and lots of opportunity to chat as well as go on the front. Very, very muddy. And yes, I cleaned the bike now so it's almost as good as new:



Except with just about everything new apart from the frame, cranks, pedals and wheels.

In other news this week I have been sucked into a Twitter debate about helmet compulsion. That's weather they should be compulsory, not the compulsive wearing of cycling protective gear. Although with the accidents that have happened this week, to Saint Bradley and Shane Sutton no-one is safe. Even before then I had been reviewing my safety apparel on the commuter run, after seeing how hard it was to pick out cyclists now the clocks have gone back.

Last week I added these to some of my spokes:


Spoke reflectors. Very uncompliant, but I hope they will reduce my sideswipe accident risk.

The Twitter thing. I posted a reply to someone advocating making helmets compulsory for cyclists. I always wear one, it's my choice, but I know that compulsion, besides being wrong on a philosophical level, actually deters people from cycling. Which causes more health problems from loads of fat kids playing x-box. I speak from personal experience.

Besides, there are very few bike accidents caused to heads without cars being involved. So do we insist that pedestrians wear them? It's only sensible, because if they trip over and bang their head, or worse, get hit by a car mounting the pavement, it will keep them safe. No-one would ever go out walking.

But opponents can't see it. The answer is simple. Make roads safer, tackle driver behaviour by culture change, make cyclists obey the highway code.
Enough, I have a life that needs attending.

Come ride with me

This might be a bit early, but I was looking at my plans for next year and thinking about which events to enter.

I have already forked, and it might as well be a gilded fork for the price that's charged, for the Dragon Ride, and secured a place in the bet sportive on the planet, aka Dartmoor Classic. All being well, Stuart and I are going to watch the Tour in the Pyrenees and do a bit of riding with Pyractif, the best cycling holiday company on the planet. FACT.

I've put in for a place in the Ride London ballot, and may do something charity-related, because I really feel I want to do something for a cancer charity. And of course it's the Mayor's birthday at the end of March, her life is just about to begin, so it better be special. I was toying with offering to plan her a route, but don't tell her, she'll try and make me make it all flat and fast.

And that set me thinking. Over the last few weeks I have come up with three or four routes, all by myself and ridden them in the company of you lot, and it has been great fun. Even the ride yesterday around the Forest was very picturesque, and lacked some conversation and a coffee stop. My point is that I have now ridden pretty extensively across the south and west of England, enough to plan a few longer rides that I don't have to pay to enter.

All I need to do is persuade a few people to get in their cars to drive an hour or two to the start point, and ride with me. We could do the rides under the auspices of the ACG, so pay £5 for membership and you'd get a nice ride, great company, a coffee stop, and I'd guarantee everyone a great route, which can be downloaded onto Garmins in advance.

And anyway, we all know what the G stands for.

What do you think? Interested?

All new cycling, almost

New. College, broom, Look, ways, clothes. But in today's case, Forest. As is the way of the English there is of course, nothing new about it, being nearly 950 years old.

I am spending the weekend with my Dad, and took advantage of a beautiful morning today to cycle across the forest to my Mum's grave just outside Christchurch.

It was cold and crisp, and very sunny as I rolled down the slight gradient out of Alderholt. Then gently pushed it up the slight gradient of the next half mile. And that set the pattern, with the exception of a couple of short climbs it was an undulating day, through rolling moorland, forest and heath. All very picturesque and a reprise of some of the route of the ride I did back in August.

Talking at the graveside. Umm, what is that about? Yes I did it, had quite a monologue cum conversation, and no I'm not telling you what it was about.  Afterwards I cycled across the corner of the forest before heading west across the Avon causeway. It's the slightly elevated road across the flood plain of the river, and flood was the operative word today, and heaving with swans.

Their legs going fourteen to the dozen no doubt.

After that it was more undulations and then a nice road into Dorset and a final sprint with the wind at my back. 50 miles, most of the new. Here is the route, and I am ever so slightly ashamed to say that I had a wry grin at the weather back home in Somerset. And glad when it clouded over here, for it goes to show, that sometimes, if you seize the moment, you get the best of it.

Somewhere beyond the bitter end is where I want to be

What time is it in the world? Hah!

Sometime around now the clocks are going back an hour, yet Google blogspot-world measures time according to someplace in the USA. Whatever time it is I should really be asleep, but as is usual these days I'm finding that, well, problematic. Especially as I had a few hours in the land of nod after I came home from riding this afternoon. Yesterday afternoon.

It has been quite a week, for all sorts of reasons, trains, training sessions, bike rides and just pure unadulterated slog. I rode to work for the first time in a few weeks on Wednesday, played football enthusiastically on Monday, went to London on Thursday and went to see my Dad on Friday.

So despite my immense fatigue at 8AM Saturday, it was an official ACG ride, I was ride leader, and the sun was threatening to shine. Time to be out and at them, the hills that is. And of course it was cold, and windy, and wet and mulchy underneath, with hints of ice and more mud on the road than a seventies revival tour.

But you can't just sit about, after all the only things that are keeping me going right now are Patty Griffin, Paul Whitehouse and riding my bike. So we formed up in the Square, both of us (Dave and I) and headed off into the teeth of the north wind and up Shipham Hill. Then up Long Bottom (thank you!) and down Burrington Coombe. Now if you think you are slow going down hills, I think I have found a couple who are slower than you. Halfway between cattle grids I passed a couple who could have made faster progress by walking. Perhaps they were worried about the threat of ice, or the cavers that crossed the road in front of us.

Dave and I headed into the maze of little lanes around Butcombe and Nemnett Thrubwell. Most of them are steep, and all of them were muddy, but as far as we could tell, none had ice in or on them. With little traffic about it made for a very pleasant change from slogging into headwinds on flat level territory.

We decided to try the cafe by the east side of Chew Lake, and admire the views. I'm sorry there are no action shots, I haven't been on the course yet, so you will have to make do with still landscapes.

And here is the obligatory cake, in this case a nice fruit scone, which I ate, although most of the cream and jam was unconsumed.

I am also on something of a quest and a mission to ride lanes and byways that I have never done before. This is difficult locally but we managed it today. Some of the roads near Butcombe were new, as was the latest climb up the Mendips, Ridge Lane out of West Harptree. Sounds like a racehorse.

So here is our route as recorded by Charlie and loaded by Garmin and here is the route on ridewithGPS. About 40 miles all told, some inaccuracies in recording, but I think Garmin is more accurate. But GPS has gradients, peaking at around 18% today.

it would be so easy if there was no-one left to hurt but me

 “It's a bollocks, this race! You're working like an animal, you don't have time to piss, you wet your pants. You're riding in mud like this, you're slipping ... it’s a pile of shit......... it's the most beautiful race in the world!”

-Theo de Rooij on Paris Roubaix 

Kind of ironic given the events of 2007 and subsequently. But I remembered this quote today, well yesterday actually, amidst the Casheque mud and the blood and the beer, of a stinker of a day.

Thanks to my friends for getting me through.

It's still a good quote though.

It's not about the bike

Poor old Lance Armstrong. There, I've said his name now. Let that be an end to it. I really hope the story of him having a Google alert for his own name is true. He would need to have an army of people monitoring them, what with Twitter and all. If one of that army is reading, first let me tell you I'm not worth suing. Second, there is nothing about Lance Armstrong in this post that is defamatory, since it is either true or, actually, not about him.

I just wondered if Lance Armstrong has a therapist, a psychotherapist, or a psychology coach, that type of thing. In the absence of any of the said factual evidence, I can't speculate, but it would be interesting to know. I bet he could do with a friend at least right now. And as we all know, a friend is someone who lets you help.

Today, Steve, Jennifer and I went to Bath. Via the scenic route. It is the latest in the continuing theme to boldly go where we don't often go, before, or something like that. Last week we went south-west, this week it was north-east. So it doesn't take a genius to work out where we are going next. As with all my plans they are pretty flexible, but this week we stuck to most of the route, and certainly did the full planned distance, just over 100km in my case.

We did forgo Draycott Steep, the very, very steep hill up the Mendips, in  favour of Westbury Hill, the very steep hill. It was swirly-misty-early-sleepy Sunday morning, and after only 6-7 miles I was huffing and puffing up it. Unlike Steve, who was doing a fair impression of Joaquim Rodriguez today. As in, breezing up the hills while smoking both of us, never mind the cigar.

              Steve

Once up the top we took it in turns to haul ourselves across the plateau, before Jennifer took off down towards Chewton Mendip. For once we carried right on, until a right at Farrington Gurney, and then a sharp left, took us into our first sandstone village (town?) of Paulton. For the next few miles the road ran along the top of the ridge, and as the mist slowly cleared, the views were tremendous.

Soon, we took a right, down into the valley that carries the Gem Brook to the Avon, and the lane passed through some delightfully-wooded sections, Warren Wood, Engine Wood, Godwin's Wood, and the gruesome Slittems Wood. The best name of the day was to come, as once through the village of Monkton, we turned left and hit the slopes of Brassknocker Hill.

The route then took us round the south side of urban Bath, before descending right down to river level, and out coffee stop, the Riverside Inn at Saltford. Pretty empty it was too, I would imaging it would be packed in Summer, but as we left the day was turning into a bright and mild one. There was much layering and de-layering but with the wind now behind us, it was definitely a case of being too warm more often than not.

It was also much muddier, and there were more horses, but the names continued unabated. Pretty villages, Compton Dando, Middlepiece Lane, Cocker's Hill (yes really), Publow Lane, and my personal favourite (I have no idea why), the village of Woollard, Something to do with the accent I think.

 

Rail enthusiasts will recognise Pensford viaduct, which we all went under for the first time today.  Pensford  is actually a fascinating place, as I found out from the link, but  if you can't be bothered to read the link, I can confirm there isn't a railway a-top it now. The village does however have this other Grade II listed farm house, also eponymously named!

 





I haven't mentioned bridges for a while. If you are a new reader, I have almost an obsession for a great bridge, and we went over loads today, mainly because we were dipping out of these small valleys, each with its own Avon tributary.

Modern bridges just don't seem the same somehow, more thought went into this, for example:

 

 

This one is in Stanton Drew, and I have still not stopped to look at the Stone circle there. Shortly after crossing this, we headed back onto more familiar ground through Chews Magna and Stoke, but instead of heading up a Harptree, we climbed the back road out of Compton Martin, known as the Wrangle. Pretty steep and a bit mucky. I was initially sitting down, until I inadvertently pulled a wheelie, forcing me out of the saddle till the road was less damp.

 

Once at the top we all decided that was enough and so we headed across the top and down the gorge. For once, on a Sunday, I got a clear run and took it at a fair pace, before hitting grockle city at the bottom.

 

It had been a great ride. Not lightning fast, but then mucky and wet roads put paid to that, along with some chunky climbing. And the best company there is, in the fresh air and the sunshine. Just for one day, a little bit of denial. So Lance, I understand, I really do. Sometimes the real world and the truth are hard to face. But when you do it, after it's all over, you will still have your friends, your family, your health and your bike. You can make a plan of how to sort things, get people to help and support you, people that really care, not the millions of "adoring fans".

 

Do you need anything else? Really?