The roads never End (Old Roads Audax 300km aka Guy Stuart's 25th anniversary bike ride)

Which way?

A question everyone has asked themselves at some point. If you haven't I congratulate and commiserate with you in equal measure. Crossroads, triangles, T-junctions, forks in the road. We all face them. If you have continued blithely on your way with the certainty that requires no questions, then you are not paying attention to the journey.

Stuart and I have now known each other for 25 years. I know, who'd have thought it. That means we met each other before Manchester Utd won the Premier League, hell before the Premier League was invented. In that time we have both moved about, married and had children (but not to each other, not yet anyway), got fatter and slimmer, and fatter again in my case, and turned into a couple of very grumpy, happy, hilariously amusing middle-aged men. Well, we think so.

And we've done a few bike rides together, generally of the iconic sort. Coast to coast, Land's End to John o' Groats, Raid Pyrenean, that type of thing. And they follow a pattern, Stuart promises to stick with me, then disappears up the hill only to wait for me and tell me how well I'm doing! So when I suggested doing a 300km Audax, the Old Roads, I shouldn't have been surprised that it would be Stuart who'd be my companion on the road.

Stuart has written his excellent blog on our trip, so I will embellish his description with a couple of observations and a few pictures.

There is nothing like crossing a good bridge. I dug my heels in to stick to the official route so that we could cross over this one, across the M5 around dawn near Exeter. Stuart was pissed off to begin with, but he knew better than to argue.

Especially as I got this one of him crossing it, I love cycling over motorways, it kind of sums up how liberating it is to be cycling in the open air. It didn't really matter that it was a very windy, stormy, rainy day. That just added to it.

We pressed on across the fringes of Dartmoor, there were rainbows, dark clouds ahead and bright skies behind us. And choices, lots of road decisions, but between us we got most of them right. Garmin helps. As does a certain insouciance about when we got back. Stuart is more competitive about cycling than me, it must come with being a better cyclist, rather than having a lot to be modest about.

 

The A30 used to run through the middle of Okehampton past this church. Is the world a better place now you can get to Cornwall on a dual carriageway and bypass it?

 

My new saddlebag is fantastic, I hardly knew it was there. Expect to see it appearing on ACG rides very soon. Or maybe a spot of light touring?

We didn't find this feature as funny as its name suggests, since we had just cycled up a steep and nasty gravel-strewn path to get there. Still, the building was nice, anyone know what it is?

 

And the temporary stop gave the opportunity for Stuart to hold my bike, not a euphemism, and gave him practice for when it became much more important later on, when my stomach refused to tolerate any sustenance, and I had to dash off to avoid making a mess of my saddlebag.

 

Cycling generally allows you to eat whatever you like. Yesterday the name of the game was eat whatever you can. Here is a picture of the most delicious pasty in the world. Shame I didn't take one of the most delicious carton of chocolate milk, or packet of cold pasta, or cereal bar, or...you get the idea.

 

 

The hunger even got to Mr healthy-eating. Perhaps the only picture in the world of Stuart eating a bag of crisps.

So we came to rely on each other, much more so later on in the ride, when our limits were well and truly stretched. After stuffing my face in Cheddar, slightly rueful about having to cycle 50 miles away from my house, we encountered (for my 3rd time in three weeks) High Ham hill. Bugger. Digestion, 156 miles and a steep climb all at once. I thought I would never make the end of the ride.

And when Stuart's eyes packed up as I was taking the one above at sunset at Muchelney, just as my Garmin also gave up its work for the day (this despite researching and then buying a battery pack, which I cleverly left behind in my bag in the car), I wondered how well we would navigate from there onwards. Well we cobbled together a way, and eventually pulled through, completing 197.5 miles of riding in the day. My Garmin record and the unrecorded extra bit are here. The sharp-eyed will notice I forgot to switch back on immediately after Cheddar, but trust me, to quote Stuart "we ended up covering 316km, or 198 miles. We started at 6am, and arrived back at our starting point (Honiton in Devon) at 11.36pm, i.e. 17 hours 36 mins later. We ascended 3800 metres, or 12000 feet".

It was the longest single day's ride either of us have ever done.

When I came back from the Somerset Hills sportive last Sunday night, I was a bit wrecked. It was only 132 miles. I just couldn't countenance how I was going to do 50% more distance the next time I got back on a bike. And loads of people told me I was mad, barking and the like. But I got reminded of an old lesson yesterday. Well two actually. The first is don't drive a car on a motorway when you've ridden a bike for 17 hours.

But the main one, the important one is this. We can all do much more than we think we can. Sometimes I fail, sometimes it's difficult. But usually we can overcome this if we persist. And if you'll indulge me, a third lesson. It's fun finding out and really quite unremarkable and ordinary.

And this seems fit the theme

Somerset Hills Gran Fondo 2014

I'm worried. About two things. The first is that I may have bitten off more than I can chew, but more on that later.

Of more importance is that I may be becoming a little more tolerant and circumspect about biking sartorial matters. Yesterday I saw a lot of Martyn's backside, encased in opaque lycra I should add. When he wasn't off chasing anyone that passed us that is, some automatic trip switch compelling him to up his pace, drop me and try and out-run someone 20 years younger than him.

Mind you, Trevor was just as bad. Hauling myself up Elworthy, which is the only way I can do that climb, I was passed first by one woman then another, both on nice carbon machines. I know my limits, a pleasant good morning and a grimace for a smile, and they were gone, quickly followed by an orange flash on a Lynskey as Trevor's alpha male ego forced him to give chase at the risk of a heart attack.

Anyway, back to the clothes. As you can see from this lovely picture of Martyn taking off his leg-warmers at Blue Anchor, the rear zip on his gilet was undone. It was undone at 7AM, it was undone at the Pines café, up Crowcombe and it was undone at the finish. And not a word came out of my lips about it, although I can not tell you the number of times I wanted to draw level and zip it up. Although if I'd have attempted it, he'd of zoomed off into the distance.

AT the start of yesterday's Somerset Hills Gran Fondo I was somewhat put to shame by the gleaming new steeds of my companions, particularly Martyn's, and found myself in the unusual position of having the oldest bike. The Red Madone is nearly four, which in bike years is about 73, so maybe I should start the slow build-up and propaganda war that leads to a new purchase.

I have previous with this ride, having entered in both 2012 and 2013, and DNF and failed to start respectively. And when my right ankle swelled to the size of a small balloon after my mid-week commute I was convinced that the curse was about to strike again. But on advice from Nurse Sister, I elevated, rested, compressed and by Saturday the ankle was fine. Just in time to see this.

Sunday dawned bright and clear, fairly cool and some moderate wind from time to time (no sniggering, I'm not the only one), and generally a perfect day for cycling. Six of us set off together, Jon, James, Trevor, Peter, Martyn and me, and we were all full of banter as we toddled up Cheddar gorge. A first for me, I managed the 16% horseshoe without standing up. The route is a strange one. The climbs are testing, but they are all over the place.

Cheddar gorge, Shapwick, High Ham, Enmore Hill, Elworthy Hill, Blue Anchor and West Quantockshead, Crowcombe and Puriton are the main ones. As ever, the scenery, the views and the countryside were all looking marvellous. But the route leaves a bit to be desired in my view. There are too many roads that are used just to link the iconic climbs together, and to do that they used some descents which were too technical for a mass-participation sportive, when other ones are available. For example the descents through Westbury-sub-Mendip and the one off High Ham are the worst ways to come down those two hills.

But I'm trying to stick to less moaning and grumbling, or is it fewer moans and grumbles? It was lovely to have a food stop by the sea, that doesn't happy every day. Although a few pedestrians and locals didn't seem too keen, as they had to compete for pavement space with a bunch of cyclists. By then we had dropped Peter, on his first bike ride for a month, and really feeling it. We stopped a couple of times for him, but after the wonderful descent through Timberscombe he didn't catch us up, and despite waiting we thought he may have bailed and taken a short cut. He did finish, about an hour behind me and Jon, who were about three minutes behind James, Martyn and Trevor, all desperately racing off to get under 9 hours total time.

But the highlight of the day has to have been the ascent of Crowcombe Hill, well-described by this blogger. For all five of us to get up without a foot down was inspirational, and made my day. I've only attempted it once before, and failed, and as Jon so memorably said at that time, "I'm never going up there again, even in a car".

So what else is worrying me? In the last month I have completed three 200km rides, each of which has left me feeling completely kyboshed. Next week I'm committed to a 300km in the form of the Old Roads Audax. The big saddlebag is ready, travel lodge booked for a 6AM start, will I be up to it?

Only us : Nutty Nuns 200km Audax 2014

The meaning of life? Well, forty-two of course. The same number of brave souls who stumped up the princely sum of £8 to enter the Nutty Nuns Audax, which took place today. You did read that right. £8 for a fabulous route, food at the controls and the start, and fellow riders so pleasant that you want to invite them home and meet your parents.

But, grim weather forecasts of cyclonic fury, thunderstorms and the like, dissuaded an unlucky number, yes thirteen, from getting out of bed. So we were down to 29 at the start in High Ham, near Langport. Which is on a bloody great big hill, which we went down to start. There were over 150 starters for the Merry Monk, the 100km lightweight version that started after and finished before us.

I'm not going to describe today's ride in words, go and ride it, it was beautiful. There were times when it wasn't a vicious headwind or pouring rain, but not many. I loved the 60 mile leg actually into the wind, that was character-building. It was great to do it with Martyn, I think you need company on really long and/or tough rides, but there were a few in the 29 riding solo.

Alas, five of our fellowship were forced to bail, although all will have still ridden a fair way and deserve great credit for getting out of bed and having a crack.

Actually, as these few pictures do show, it was actually sunny for a lot of the time. And though we both tired towards the end, especially in the endless circling of Glastonbury Tour, on balance it was a very sunny day in our heads and hearts. The scenery, the exercise, the mutual support and real camaraderie, I think it's a rare thing. You don't see it, but you will, we are not invisible!

Here are the pictures:

Seventeen come Sunday

Despite the predicted April showers that we will probably see over the next few days, and the occasional torrential storm that will have everyone moaning, it looks like Spring has finally arrived. Even commuting to work is fun on days like this, especially when you can get a view like this first thing in the morning.

Today was a beautiful archetype of a Spring day. Despite being born in early Autumn, this is my favourite time of year. As the days are longer than the nights, and that daylight ratio keeps getting better, so it is that the promise of longer, dryer, warmer bike rides dangles enticingly in front of our Garmin mounts.

Even the kit-choice debates have moved into more optimistic territory. Arm warmers? Gilet? Leg-warmers or just shorts? Winter coats have been left behind in favour of rain capes, "just in case", and buffs migrate from the neck to the crown of the MAMIL's balding head.

Don't forget route choices either. Today our record-breaking bunch of road cyclists and Steve (Man for all terrains) Down, all managed to get to the Stable Tea Rooms at Bishop Sutton, even if we did splinter amidst punctures and "homes to get to" on the way back. Sixteen of us there were. Sixteen! Ian, Steve A, Bill, Dan, James, Clayton, Dave (thanks for taking the main party back btw), Helen, Jennifer, Robin, Steve D, Ray, Russell, Jon, Trevor and me.

Perhaps next Sunday we will have one more and then we can all hum one of these fabulous tunes. Always make me think of Spring they do, and it's the right geography too.

 

 

 

I'm not even going to complain about the puncture party. Jennifer picked a lovely hillside spot in the full sunshine to double puncture. Our somewhat inept efforts took ages, but who cares? What would we rather be doing, sat in the traffic?



Or looking at views like this?



Thanks to everyone for making Easter Monday thoroughly enjoyable.

All this you can leave behind

For the fifth year in a row I rode the White Horse Challenge today. I'm pleased to say that following the blip that was 2013, my steadily improving trajectory of performance has been resumed. The only problem is that at the current rate of incremental improvement, I should break the 5-hour barrier sometime around the year 4076.

The total time, which the organisers use to award standards, was just 8 seconds better than in 2012, although my riding time was over 3 minutes faster.

On Friday and yesterday, there were a few e-mails buzzing about between me, Martyn, Jon and James as to whether we should go for the 5-hour target. I think we all wanted to give it a crack, but no-one wanted to be too emphatic in case we crashed and burned.

I won't bore you with the full description of the route, Jennifer, who also rode will do a cracking job of that. But the four of us worked very hard to stay with a fast group for the first 22 miles, until we fell off the back going up the hill out of Broadtown. We had done well to stay with them, and from then on I think we worked pretty well together, with occasional help from one or two others, until the major hills started to kick in, just after the second feedstop. Up until that point we had managed to maintain a pace that would have got us in under the mythical 300 minutes.

James was clearly climbing much better than me and Martyn, and Jon was not far behind him. So I persuaded the two of them to ride off and see if they could break the 5 hours as our pace had slipped and we were clearly not going to make it. James pushed on and missed out by 90 seconds, although Jon got caught in traffic in Lambourn and ended the day with Martyn and me.

So yet again I fell 6 minutes short, but the faster riding time shows what is possible, could 2015 be the year we do it? Perhaps we need Mr Lupton to give us a tow? I don't think I could have ridden any faster today, so next year we will have to do some things differently, train harder and hope for better weather.

Not that it was bad today. Nice breezy Spring sunshine, starting a bit chilly and warming up nicely. Shorts were the order of the day for me for the first time this year too.

But today was a brilliant day, great route, great organisation as ever, friendly too, and best of all my riding companions and me enjoying our Sunday out on our bikes. We chatted afterwards and waited for Jennifer to finish, giving her a big cheer as she did so, one of the faster women again.

The route also had a minor diversion, whilst retaining the climbs associated with the white horses. Including Dragon Hill, past the Uffington white horse. Which is really a dragon. Well I think it is anyway. It was certainly a boundary marker in days gone by. How appropriate.

Valley of the Rocks Audax 2014

"Oh yes" said Peter, "Ian Hennessy is well known for putting together some pretty lumpy routes".

Of course by the time these words were uttered, that had become self-evident. I think it was shortly before the point that my Garmin's battery failed, or I had run out of food, or switched my lights on because we had been out for so long that it was getting dark!

But it had been a wonderful day, one of my favourite days out on a bike in fact. And definitely the hardest route I have done in the UK to date. Whilst I've had tougher days, they were difficult because of me and my poor fitness or unpreparedness, or perhaps because of the weather. This ride, the 200km Valley of the Rocks Audax was hard because of its 130 miles, (I know, that's more than 200km isn't it?), and 11,841 feet of climbing, and gradients the like of which I don't want to see again. Over 25% in one case, and yes I walked.

Leaving the valley of the rocks (photos courtesy of Jamie Andrews)

Martyn and I joined a very cheery bunch of around 30 or so at Ian's house for the start in a misty Honiton at 8AM, and after quick preliminaries off we went. I'm using Martyn's record of the route and we stuck together for the whole ride bar the odd hill. We had expected to meet Peter at the start, but there was no sign and no message, so we headed off into the gloom without him.

Woody Bay from the route

I'm not going to describe it all, suffice to say that once we were down below the clouds, the weather improved, and although it never became a truly sunny day, there were fleeting moments of brightness. And only an hour or so of proper rain, splashed through the day.

Martyn on the coast route

The scenery was fantastic. Little villages, wide-open vistas of rolling countryside, the wildness of Exmoor, the stunning north Devon coast, gorges, woods, valleys, rivers, lakes, it had it all. Being an Audax everyone was very friendly and supportive, and we even had lunch in the pub at Combe Martin.

Lunch, Audax-style

Which is where we bumped into Peter, who had caught us up after starting 30 minutes late. We thought he'd soon catch us again on the next few hills, he's a stronger rider than us, but he must have expended a lot of effort to get to Combe Martin, because it wasn't until South Molton, where we stopped for full-fat coke, that he did.

The next section between South Molton and Crediton was a succession of rolling valleys, each seemingly steeper than the last, and many populated by a motley collection of land-rovers, men on horseback without redcoats, and lots of people staring over hedges into fields whilst shouting into walkie-talkies.

It was the hunt, skilfully murdering a defenceless animal while circumventing the laws of the land in the name of a "way of life". And stupidly driving their 4 by 4s too fast up narrow country lanes, nearly knocking me off. Wouldn't it be easier to go out and shoot foxes with a gun?

At the top of the highest ridge was the wonderfully-named village of Black Dog which belied its associations with the condition in being a pretty place with a wonderful aspect.

We rolled on into the final stretch, checking the directions, and eventually rolled into Honiton again just as dusk was falling. A great day out, can't wait for next Audax in a few weeks' time. And for next week and the Wild Horse challenge, or as I'm calling it from now on, the Neil and Shirley memorial ride.

Many thanks to Jamie Andrews for permission to use his two of me and Martyn.

 

 

 

 

Valley of the Rocks

Looking up the valley

 

Into the Valley

This world will not impose its will

A couple of weeks ago I had a look at all my posts on my Facebook timeline. Without much exception, all of the last three months' status updates could have been summed up by three sentences:

1. I've been riding my bike
2. It's raining and windy, mostly headwinds
3. I'm getting really sick of this.

I could have saved myself a lot of bother and my FB friends a lot of tedium by just doing it once at the beginning of December then going and doing something less boring instead. "Why don't you?" my inner voice said to me. By the way, we all have one, if you don't you are the mad one.

So I resolved not to talk about the weather anymore, break a habit of a lifetime and be more entertaining. Or eclectic if you prefer.

But for the last three days, for each of which I have ridden my bike, or bikes to be more precise, I have been blessed with no rain, favourable winds for the most part, and yesterday and today, unbroken, glorious sunshine. A total of over 150 miles without having water fall out of the sky has just got to be celebrated, especially as it breaks all my commuting habits of the Winter.

So I'm breaking that promise, to give you these pictures from the Dunkery Dash, a fantastically friendly Audax from North Petherton out to the road beneath the Beacon and back. Over Quantocks and Exmoor of course. Despite its relatively short 100km duration, it packs a punch with its hills, so I am grateful to Martyn for towing me and James home. It would have been very tough without him.

 

In case you are wondering, that shoe is a new shoe. Brilliant white and shiny out of the box and belonging to James. I fully expected it to be mucky and grey by the end of the ride. But no, such was the righteousness of the sunshine, that it influenced our footwear too. Mine, as battered and torn as they started the day, and James's just as immaculate as when they left the factory.

And talking of habits, I'm now five successful days into breaking another one. No chocolate, sweets, crisps, cake or biscuits have entered my body since the start of Ash Wednesday. Even yesterday at the appropriately-named Sweet's café on our Axbridge Cycling Group ride, I stuck to brown toast.

And today, joy of joys, the "recovery food" at the control was bread & butter pudding. Since the stipulation I have agreed with my co-abstainers stipulated "no puddings composed largely of chocolate-based ingredients" this was clearly not on the banned list. And it had fruit in it, so I consider it in the spirit of the agreement as well as the letter. And I had just ridden 100 km!

The hardest moment so far was opening the fridge yesterday, ravenously hungry and seeing a Kit-Kat staring at me. But I will not give up and I will not give in. So I didn't.