How low or high I go

Audax Hotels. Some of you will know what that means, some of you won't, but the apogee of this story happened in one just outside of Ascot. Just past the roundabout on the A329 where there's a nice ornamental apartment complex, although at the time all I saw was the hotel.

It was about 10PM, Thursday night, dark, obviously, it being March in the UK. Cold, very wet, pretty windy. A headwind. As it had been for me since about 5PM when I had left the City of London, only 70km previously. That's slow progress isn't it?

I've never cycled in London before. It was bad enough on the way into the town, I'd chosen main roads for navigation purposes, but I doubt I would have found it much less stressful on the back ones. And I can see why cyclists jump red lights, there's one every 50 yards, and if the taxis and buses don't get you, the pedestrians almost certainly will, eventually.

So I took my colleague's advice to heart on the way out of the city, take it slowly and stay safe. But stopping at all the red lights, trying to make a path through all that Bank Holiday traffic heading for the airport, the beach, the hills, well let's just say my momentum was non-existent. All those people can't like London very much if they were all leaving, can they?

Once past Hounslow it got worse. Although the traffic eased, I was now on main roads with fast-moving traffic, puddles of water and plenty of headwind with few buildings to shelter me. I pushed on up Egham Hill trying to get warm, but as I rolled through leafy Virginia Water and past the Ascot racecourse, I couldn't feel my hands or feet, I was shivering, soaked to the skin and I saw the bus shelter and decided to take stock.

It had all been going so well too. The wind I struggled against in the evening had propelled me in the daytime, up though Bath, Chippenham, Marlborough and Hungerford.



The view of Cherhill, Wiltshire from the A4

 I breezed along the A4, delighting at my speed along the rolling main road, which seemed quite quiet, and into Reading by midday.


Reading

From there, despite the onset of rain, I made good time to Windsor and onto Hounslow, before hitting all the traffic on the run-in to the City. I'd decided to combine a DIY Audax with a fund-raising attempt for our current office charity, Jack's Fund, that raises money for the Children's oncology unit at the Bristol Royal Infirmary. You can still sponsor me if you like via this link. My employer had also given me the day off to do the ride, as well as allowing one of my colleagues to have some time off to feed me and take care of my bike parking arrangements quickly at our London office.



Arriving at our office in London

So after arriving at about 4.30PM I was out of there and back on the road within an hour. With hindsight the timing was terrible as by now, what had been very busy traffic, had turned into nose-to-tail jams. I cut some of it out by cycling across the cycle paths of Hyde Park, but my average speed for the first 10 miles was 9mph, with plenty of stops to boot. It didn't get much faster either, looking at my Strava data, I seemed to have taken about an hour to cover each 10-mile section, culminating in that stop in Ascot.

There was still 160km to go (about 100 miles). I knew that if I continued I would have another 5-6 hours of rain, and after that the temperatures were forecast to drop to about 3-5C in open country, plus the headwinds all the way to Bristol. Even on a good day, that's 8 hours of riding, plus stops for food, and that was likely to be in the open at all-night garages.

I was shivering, I couldn't warm up, so I called Mrs Mendip Rouleur to ask her opinion. Fortunately she was able to think straight and booked me into a Travelodge in Wokingham.  I knew that this decision would cost me any chance of this being a qualifying Audax ride, as well as my attempt at Randonneur round the Year going down the drain, as it's too late in the month for me to get another ride in.

I know people who would have pressed on, and I know people who would never have started. I also know people who would get on a train home. As you can see from the trace of my route, the fact that it took me an hour to find the place shows how confused and unable to follow directions I had become. It was unquestionably the right decision for me and I don't regret it.



Broken by the weather in Wokingham

 Of course, that wasn't the end of the ride. Early the next morning, well about 8.30 actually, I headed off into the bright sunshine into the West. It was a nice day, although I did still have that headwind to contend with. Now the time pressure was off, I took it easy, finding some nice country back roads in Berkshire to cycle on, admire the views and marvel at the fate of Greenham common airbase. I also passed the Aldermaston Nuclear weapons research facility, which is set in an incongruously leafy area.

It was also a bit of trip down memory lane as I passed towns and places that my grandparents, parents, uncles, brothers and sister all have associations with, as well as my own childhood memories of climbing Silbury Hill and wandering around the West Kennet Long Barrow.

Eventually I made it to Chippenham, and not having to complete my mandatory route I decided to take the direct route back to Bristol via the A420. Now the official longest, grindiest road in a headwind in the World as voted by yours truly. As I neared the top of one slogging incline, a bloke walking his dog, called, encouragingly I think, "dig deep son, dig deep". Nice people are everywhere!

So there you have it, a 400km ride done with a break in the middle, no Audax points and a few more hard lessons learned. Does it count as a 400km ride? Yes it does, in my book, and that's the one I'm counting. It's on Strava like that anyway. And thanks to all the people who encouraged me (especially my colleague from work) along the way. And Mrs MR for making me see sense. It means everything to have that backing.

But the most important thing in this? Over £700 raised so far by virtue of the vey generous friends, colleagues, and family that have sponsored me to raise money for people who face a constant challenge far in excess of anything I had to do. So if you are feeling up to it, you can sponsor me too, even just a small token amount counts and is gratefully received. That means everything too.

Thank you.

Back to Square two

2016 has not started as I thought it would. Before I get stuck into this theme properly, I want you to understand that I am not complaining. At all. I have, as they say, so much to be grateful for.

For a kick-off, I'm not American. The world's most dysfunctional country also has a lot to be grateful for, but unlike me, it hasn't really wised up to that as yet. Last year I met a really charming man, Jeff Guara, whilst we were both cycling from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean with Pyractif. Jeff, as well as being very charming is also very weird. Not because he is American, or because he is a Christian, or because he shoots his own meat. But because he is a triathlete and wears those funny socks and other weird stuff - pointy helmet and cat-ears.

Actually Jeff and I had many very interesting conversations in the few days we were together, and even occasionally when we were cycling together. Although on that point, most of the time I was trawling a long way behind his very well-organised and meticulous pace. As he stormed up the Col de Port in 30-degree heat, I grovelled.

Jeff dressed as a cyclist on a cyclist's bike.

We did have the "gun conversation". I think to begin with Jeff was a little bit surprised that I was serious when I told him that firing guns had no appeal. Although my 15-year old son was all for jumping on a plane to Carolina immediately and high-tailing it out to the woods to blast away. But one day when our peloton had a run-in with an errant driver, and the encounter left no-one nursing gunshot wounds as a result of road-rage, I think he saw my point.

It was recent Facebook exchange with Jeff that prompted me to worry about America. Whilst we have Boris Johnson as our "I can't believe he is really in power" politician, unfortunately America has Donald Trump. So whilst enlightening Jeff, via the global tax-avoider's facility, and the history of monkey-hanging in Hartlepool and its impact on the Democratic process, he confessed that they had no-one they could actually vote for.

It was then that I realised. The actual triumph of tyranny is not global repression, tax-avoidance, abolishing free school milk or awarding yourself a whopping pay-rise as an MP when you have all the benefits of an Eton & Oxford education. No the successful totalitarian despot these days makes mainstream political life so tediously dull whilst at the same time stretching the bounds of credibility to make it seem like it is a reality TV show.

In that way we all just give up and go back to our bread and circuses, and leave the elite to go on with their Master Plan. And they say what starts out over there, soon comes over here.

By now I had also expected to be well into my first 300km Audax of the year. But unfortunately my lungs are refusing to play ball, as I succumb to my second bout of man-flu of 2016. Of course, I am making a mighty fuss about it, but I haven't helped my own cause by going and watching two West Ham games in the last 7 days. Whilst the football has also been unexpectedly good, the accompanying freezing-cold weather has probably not helped my immune system, or my asthma.

 

But nights like this one are coming to an end with our move to the state-subsidised Olympic Stadium (thank you all very much for your generosity), so I just had to go to see us beat Spurs under the lights for the final time.

Usually, West Ham's form takes a nose-dive at any hint of achievement, so it is unexpected to be both playing attractive football and winning football. Although I expect all of that to end this afternoon away at Everton. The latter have won more points against us than any other team apparently, so my natural pessimism won't be misplaced. They are 1-0 up as I type this.

In between the two colds I did manage to have a great February, with some great weekend rides and lots of commuting. My ride down to Lyme Regis was particularly epic, but maybe I overdid it there too.

So I am back to Square one again, next weekend (I hope) for the third time. I probably need to eat more vegetables and get more sleep, traditional remedies to illness. Regrettably I can't take it easy for the next couple of weeks as I'm committed to a 400km charity ride in three weeks time. Feel free to sponsor me via that last link, I'm going to be under-prepared and suffer, so make it worth my while. Please.

So hopefully with Spring on the way the cycling can get going properly, and not stop. See you out there.

My heart is where its always been, my head is somewhere in-between

Reviews of the year. This small gap of listlessness (try saying that after Christmas lunch) between the mid-Winter solstice and our collective, depressive return to work in January, seem to generate no end of them.

Here's the Tourmalet again. Yawn.

Some people even start them in advance, those truly awful missives in our Christmas cards. They must take some crafting to produce, working out the right order to place your trivia in. But they are a dying breed, mainly because Facebook has so successfully inveigled its way into our addictive souls. The online, constant version of the unwanted, and let's face it, quite dull news, is now so constant and pervasive, that it has made those despised annual circulars a thing of the past.

But not in a good way.

Christmas itself is, I'm happy to say, a pagan festival. Only a bit watered-down. Even Arthur Pendragon (real name Timothy) when he appears at Stonehenge every solstice, looks like a cross between a trainspotter and the chair of the local Am-dram society. In days of old we would have had much more riotous behaviour going on in our halls and hovels, although, to be fair, a lot of this is now transposed to so-called "Black Friday" out on the high street.

Just like apple pie on an Audax. In Wales. Only more so.





Solstice celebrations consisted of riding to work three days in a row in totally shit weather, followed by prodigious eating and trying to match my teenage son in the sleeping department. The latter task was a big "ask" in which I of course singularly failed. A bit like the Avalon sunrise in June. Near Glastonbury. Predictable.

So I hope you will be glad to know that I'm neither going to subject you to tales of what a great year I have had, or about my plans for "moving into another space" (puke NOW). Both are very, very, interesting of course. But only to me. Even Mrs Mendip Rouleur, whose job is the feigning of interest in whatever I'm talking about, is already bored, so I'll not inflict it via this forum on you. You'll have to talk to me.

Predictable metaphor alert. Bridges.



 

I did buy my dearest some good presents for Christmas, one of which is called, "The Book of Answers". On consulting it about whether I would achieve my plans for next year, its very insightful response was:

"Allow yourself to rest first"

 

How did it know? So better than reading all about it on here, or there, or everywhere, come and ride the real thing with me.

 

Happy new year. I don't have to explain all of it do I?

 

 

 

 

 



Time leaves us polished stones

This post starts off like it has a serious and profound message, but in the end you'll realise it's about cycling and the same as all the others. It's very clever.

I wonder how many people realise that today is the 52nd anniversary of the assassination of President Jack Kennedy. I didn't see anything about it on the news.I wonder how many people then knew that it would happen. He wasn't the first US President to die like that, he was the 4th, and plenty of others had near-misses.  I wonder if he thought it would ever happen to him.

On the day this picture was taken, I had earlier been in a train that filled with smoke. Brakes jammed on, but for about two minutes I didn't know that and thought it was going to get quite worrying. After the panic subsided people got annoyed about the delay. I was just grateful I wasn't actually trapped in a burning train.

I saw this beautiful sunset on the way home, and though these pictures never look quite as good on an iPhone and a blog-post, you can see where this train of thought is going.

I'm pretty sure there is no God. You are too if you analyse the situation carefully. Of course you'll bridle with indignation about it, but you know I'm right. Spirituality yes. Plenty of that, and plenty of quiet contemplation, but the need to believe? That's just a craving for the dopamine of certainty, and a need to be part of the in-group.

It inspires people to this type of architecture, all that belief. Especially when you have just skidded down a very muddy 15% gradient of a country lane, and have got to go up another one to leave it.

A real Winter's day for sure yesterday, Beast of a headwind, for once Ned Stark's warnings were all correct. I bet he never thought he'd get his head chopped off either. In fact I'm sure he didn't think it would happen to him.

But I knew I'd eventually get to Wales. Or pseudo-England as my real Welsh boss calls Monmouthshire. Although go back three generations and he's from Staffordshire. And I'm from London, Devon, Somerset. And France if you go back far enough. All the same really, there weren't enough of our predecessors for us not to be quite closely related. So wherever this was, we all come from there. Snow or no snow.

Despite the haggard experience, the next picture wasn't taken today, although I look just as bad today as I did when it was. In spite of what you may think, or others will tell you, if you can do something like 140 miles in a day on a bike, it's not that hard. It just takes practice and motivation. Like everything else. It's ordinary.

So what's stopping us?

The Secret

I'll let you into a secret. Come to think of it, I could write a book, never mind a blog post, call it "The Secret" and peddle it to a whole generation of gullible idiots. Make a fortune selling all kinds of associated quotes and mug-merchandise (no surprise or secret there), and live with my troubled conscience for ever.

Anyway, the secret? You have to enjoy the journey because we are all going to the same destination. This applies equally well to Audax as it does to life. Cycling is the easy part, even if, as on Saturday's Trefil Travail, it involves over 100km of cycling, up nearly 8000 feet of ridiculously steep terrain, and down it too, with gravel and gradients in equal measure.

The hard part? Remembering to enjoy it. Actually not that hard on Saturday, the weather, the route, and the fellow riders were all thoroughly enjoyable.

The introductions from Hugh said there were 8 mountains, but after the first one I lost count, as it seemed like one after another, after another  - you get the idea. But in between all this wonderful character-building low-gear, grinding, and brake-clenching descending, was some of the most spectacular countryside you could hope to see on a sunny late-September day.

But also a fair bit of urban and industrial history, deprivation, decay and (I hope) indomitable spirit in the communities of the South Wales valleys, through which our route passed. With great company from riding companions James, Martyn, Alan and our new-found and local guide, Mike, it was a terrific day to do the ride. I hope this mix of pictures, some taken by me some by one of the other 17 intrepid souls that did the ride (thanks to David Hann) , do it justice.

In case you are wondering, it's true, I am the only one not wearing the BK Velo jersey. Partly as a result of poor clothing choices on a day I expected it to be cold, partly because I'm an individual, not really happy blending in. Unless it's Rapha of course.



A fellow rider hits the heights - courtesy of David Hann



In the pub at lunch, glad you can't see my attire at this point - courtesy of David Hann

 



One of mine on the top of the moor



One of my failed panoramas



I like them anyway



Fellow rider crests a rise & waves!
(photo by David Hann)



You are all individuals

Elan & Ystwyth 200km Audax

Eleven down, one to go. My quest to become a Randonneur round the Year is now on the home straight, although after yesterday's stunning ride I'm going to have to come up with something pretty special to create a finale.

The Elan and Ystwyth 200km starts and finishes in Gladestry, a village over the Welsh border from the Herefordshire market town of Kington. It then heads off to the north, before turning west to Rhayader, then out past the dams and lakes of the Elan valley. From there it heads across the "roof" of mid-Wales, on a windswept (it was yesterday) and very isolated mountain road, through Devil's Bridge and onto Aberystwyth.

Then it loops south through Pont-Rhyd-Groes and back across the mountain road to Rhayader. Just when you think you are nearly home, the final 40km section takes you though Hundred House and a landscape that is both beautiful and brutal in equal measure. A couple of very steep "walls" just about finished me off before I summoned the energy to roll down the final hill back to the Arrivee.

The only flat thing yesterday was the puncture I got in Capel Bangor.  My route on Strava is accurate but the climbing isn't, as my Garmin couldn't cope with the weather to accurately measure gradient and elevation on the way back. The 3.75 AAA points give you an idea (that's 3750 metres for anyone unfamiliar with Audax).

Weather was pretty blustery, a few hours of rain over by the seaside, but fortunately the wind was with us on the way home. Ross Jeal did a sterling job of organisation and route planning, and the chilli at the end was most welcome. I also take my hat off to those riding Ross's second 200 of the weekend today. The Tregaron Dragon has even more climbing, hopefully they will have a good day!

I can't describe every detail of the day, I've got to go back to bed I'm that tired. So here are some pictures.

See you in September!

 

 

 

No end to love

I have done something that many of you may see as an extravagant waste of money. I have just spent £510 having my watch repaired. It even shocked me a bit. Of course it's not just any watch. But still.

Back in 1985 I was at the mid-point in my alienation from my parents. When I was clearing out the loft a couple of months ago I even found a letter from my Dad, saying how he felt I was drifting away from them and he was a bit concerned about it all. I'd forgotten about that letter, well you would wouldn't you? At the time I was probably pretty dismissive. I was so up myself.

Almost as an after-thought my Dad asked me what I would like for a 21st birthday present. Money? A gift? I realise now, something I could never had known then, that this was him trying to make things better. Quite beyond him, and me at the time, for we were both in generations that didn't believe in all that guff, love? Do me a favour.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I bought a watch and they gave me the money. In a St Helens jewellers suggested by my then girlfriend, I handed over a cheque (remember them?) for £255 (quite a lot of money for the time) and became the proud owner of an Omega de Ville wristwatch. With Roman numerals and hands. Eventually when I had begun my rapprochement with them, I had a simple engraving put on the back in dedication to the event and the gift.

And time moves on, and times change. The watch became progressively more important to me. It is beautiful, keeps good time and of course it's a connection. Straps come and go, time passes but the face and buckle kept it the same.

Then about a year ago I dropped it on the bathroom floor and it stopped working. I tried a new battery. Nothing. Do you know how hard it is to find a watch-mender in our throwaway society? Eventually I found a specialist firm in Essex, finally gathered up the courage to both spend the money and send the watch through the post and off it went.

Today it came back, and it now sits on my wrist again. Now they are gone I realise how precious our time is. It will soon be gone. You need to remember, but you need to move on.  And this watch takes me back in time as well as being a constant reminder of the time. Which will pass. Things will change, but time is a constant.

More clichés I'm afraid, but that doesn't mean all of this isn't true. So while I may feel I am wasting a sunny day by clearing stuff to the charity shop and tidying up the bag cupboard, I'll be glancing at my wrist through the whole day, and smiling. How times change.