Inspiring stuff from up North....

Gary, Dave the Damp and Paul from over the road all took part in last weekend's 'Tour de Leicestershire' - a 70+ miles circular romp through the fine countryside in this part of the world. I didn't do it. My back problem has made long distances just too much of a chore - I can't manage more than 30 or 40 miles at the moment - I've decided to ease off now and hope for some improvement into next year. I haven't seen Gaz since the ride - but I got a text 'I'm f**ked' was the leading line. As I remember it is a particularly hilly route.

I managed a short ride around the lanes last weekend - in fact two, one was 15 miles the other 25 - that'll do me at the moment. But if I can't ride my bike I still like watching the racing on TV or reading books and magazines. So I have two things worthy of mention from the past week. Firstly La Vuelta - I watched each stage this year - it was utterly compelling - after Chris Froome crashed out with a broken foot I thought my interest would wane - but no - the drama, the spectacle - those horrendous climbs! This years Tour de France was one of the best in recent years - but maybe La Vuelta pipped it? - When a three week stage race is undecided until the penultimate stage you know its been a great event. Congratulations to Fabio Aru but many commiserations to Tom Dumolin, the young Dutch rider who, from nowhere, catapulted himself into the big time. I suspect we'll be hearing more about him in the next few years.

As I said - I do like a good cycling magazine - and I subscribe to Rouleur which is the pinnacle, not only of cycling journalism but also of design and photography. But what really caught my eye recently was a story they ran on Martin Procter who rides with a local club in North Yorkshire. Every time he goes out, either solo or on a club run, he records the event with a beautifully hand written and illustrated entry in a sketch book - he's been doing it for some years now and has built up quite an archive. His design and illustrative skills are suberb - so much so that Rouleur commissioned him to design a front cover for the magazine and also some tee shirts for merchandising.

I've pasted a few examples below - quite inspiring for me - I might have a go myself!

Saturday - An early morning ride...

After the usual Friday night pub session with Gary and John I had made up my mind to get up early on Saturday morning and go for a shortish ride. We've got various members of family staying over for the weekend and with that all the usual organisation and ensuing chaos. I've been tasked with manning the barbecue for the afternoon - after making a batch of homemade burgers on Thursday night it's a task I don't mind too much. But first I feel the need to stretch my legs.

I set off nice and early - 7.30am. The roads are quiet as Christmas and its already fairly warm - today is forecast for a scorcher. I head along to Barton under the Beans and then turn towards Bosworth - I haven't been along this route for a while and the climb up to the market square is a daunting prospect at this hour. But it feels okay, I take it steadily but by the time I reach the top I'm leaking sweat. I make my way to Cadeby and then Sutton Cheney and on to Upton, but I turn left before the village making my way towards the A444 and Sibson. The sun is powerful already, burning through the clear blue sky and making itself felt on the bare skin of my legs and arms.

After covering 20 miles my back is aching - it's not debilitating; more annoying, a constant niggle that, no matter what I do, remains. I press on towards Twycross and then to Snarestone. From there a few more miles (and uphills) and I'll be home.

Passing through open farmland the fields that were flourishing with crops a week or so ago are now stripped bare. Some have round bales of hay dotted across the surface in the fashion of a modern art installation. It's all signals that summer is on it's last legs; teetering towards winter......darkness..... cold. It seems to be happening more quickly than ever this year, I've already noticed the evenings drawing in and it's definitely darker (and cooler) in the mornings. Its only three months since I was in France where the heat was sometimes overpowering, that three months feels like a year.

Prudential Ride London 2015

We seem to have done a lot this year - as one 'challenge' gets ticked off there's another looming. We did the Ride London event last year and almost drowned - then there was the constant problem of punctures every few miles. This year I was prepared; five spare inner tubes.

With the Bruges trip and Dunwich Dynamo we'd got enough miles in the legs - I knew we would be okay with the distance, however we had a couple of new accomplices this year - Barry the Bell and Dave the Damp. Barry has done quite a few challenges of his own - not least Lands End to John O Groats and being a retired 'man of leisure', has the time to spend training. Dave the Damp is fairly new to this though. He only started riding about a year ago and this will be his first properly long ride.

Barry the Bell, Dave the Damp?? - who are these people, what do the nicknames mean?

Barry is a bellringer - we know him from way back, and he's a regular on the Wednesday night beer rides. Dave has a building business, specialising in damp proofing (amongst other things) - he's been featured on Grand Designs and has worked for some famous clients, including Roman Abramovitch. He's a Villa supporter so he must be a decent chap?

We set off for London on Saturday morning, planning to detour to the ExCel Centre on the way to pick up our numbers and rider details. Traffic was okay and we found ourselves in a side street close to the ExCel with plenty of time to spare. Unfortunately we had parked on the 'wrong side', we had to cross the railway and then traverse the ExCel Centre from one side to the other - Dave had been involved in building this place - but he had no clue when it came to finding the bit we needed. To make matters worse there was a conference taking place, 'Imagine Jesus', apparently something associated with Jehovah's Witnesses - the place was jammed and it took us a while to pick our way through the crowds.
Once we'd found the registration section it was plain sailing, we were through quite quickly and then back on the road to our hotel in Ilford. Barry the Bell was in a separate hotel, but only a mile or so further along the road - we all met up for an evening meal, last minute carb-loading and a few beers to settle the nerves. The rooms were okay - at least this year they had the foresight to leave a couple of fans to keep us cool overnight.

I was up at 5.00 for a breakfast of porridge and one of those instant pasta pots - except I knocked the porridge over in the darkness and had to spend 10 minutes cleaning up the mess. By 6.00am I was outside with my bike just checking it was okay after the journey down on the roof of Gary's car - everything seemed okay. Already there were people setting for off the start point at the Olympic Park. By 6.30 the four of us were on our way.

The organisation and logistical management at the Olympic Park is impressive - from every direction there is a constant flow of cyclists, all herded to a specific 'wave' start point, colour co-ordinated and timed to ensure that over 25,000 cyclists can arrive and depart in a totally controlled fashion. Every two minutes another 200 or so cyclists begin the 100 mile journey to the finish on the Mall.

I was Black Zone, wave H starting at 8.21am - the other three were Blue Zone, wave H starting two minutes before. We split up, having first arranged to meet a couple of miles up the road - then its an hour of standing around, gradually shuffling ever nearer to the off. Finally the start is in sight, there's a man playing music over a PA system and we are encouraged to countdown to our departure - 10...9...8.....7.....  Then we're off! - There's an adrenaline rush for the first few hundred yards as everyone sprints to the front - I hang back, happy to take it easy and make sure I don't miss the others waiting for me somewhere up the road.

After a couple of miles I hear a shout and see Gary, Baz and Dave on the other side of the dual carriageway - they clamber over the barrier and we're together as a group. We enjoy the steady, if pacey ride through central London, spotting the 'sites' as we go. With an event like this the roads are inevitably smothered with cyclists, all travelling at different speeds, some riding alone, some in groups that cover the width of the road. The trick is to be aware of what's in front and also what might be coming up behind - some people shout a warning as they approach from behind, 'On your right'....'Coming through'..... others simply whizz past. Any sudden change of direction to avoid someone in front has an equal and sometimes unfortunate consequence for those travelling behind. Soon there is evidence of people 'coming together' - cyclists sprawled out on the road with others avoiding them and causing further mayhem. There are a few people covered in blankets with ambulance crew in attendance, a bit worrying but thankfully we avoided all of that and made fast progress along fairly flat and smooth roads.

It was sunny and hot, so much different to the floods of last year - as we pass through Richmond Park I remembered the spot where, last year, the drain covers had been blown out and there was a fountain of sewage spurting a yard into the air. We stop at one of the regular hubs along the route, top up our bidons and grab a few bananas. Then we're off again heading towards the mid-section - the hills.

Last year the two biggest climbs, Leith Hill and Box Hill were closed due to the weather conditions - so we were looking forward to becoming aquainted. The first challenge was Newlands Corner a longish rise but with a fairly easy incline for the most part - but kicking up sharply for the last half mile or so - there were plenty of people walking up the last part. On the way up there was an accident just in front of me, I saw a girl catapulted from here bike and landing awkwardly on the verge - she was unconscious lying face down but with a number of riders gathered around - I stopped at the first steward and informed him - he knew already and help was on its way - hope she was ok. At the top we managed to get split up - I carried on not realising that the other three had stopped at the hub. Before I realised what had happened I was a few miles down the road. I spoke to Gary on the phone and told him I'd wait at the next water stop. Before long I was there and I pulled in and filled my bidon. I stood around for 40 minutes and still no sign of them - I tried calling and texting but couldn't get through to Gaz - by now I could feel my muscles were stiffening up, getting cooler - I decided to press on - Leith Hill was next and I figured I'd just take it easy and let them catch up. When we got close to the Hill we were stopped by stewards, apparently there'd been an accident on Leith Hill and the route was closed - we had to make a detour and then rejoin the main route before Box Hill. This took 8 miles out of the course. But before long we were on the climb up Box Hill - I'd read about this, one of the most iconic cycle climbs in the UK - but not, as it turned out, particularly difficult. Still plenty of people walking up though and I saw someone throwing up at the roadside. Reaching the summit there's a café and exhibition, it's a National Trust site; there were hundreds of cyclists stopped and taking a rest, I paused for ten minutes or so but still no sign of the others and I couldn't contact Gary.

I carried on down the other side and up another short hill before a long, fast descent - there was a bad crash here and we were brought to a standing halt again - ambulances were in attendance and I saw two men both unconscious at the roadside. Scary stuff. We got going again, the worst of the ride is now over - its the fast roads back to the city now. I stopped at a hub in Esher and managed to get through to Gary - thankfully they weren't too far behind and within about 15 minutes we were joined again - about 20 miles to go to the finish.

The crowds were fantastic all day - every town we went through had enthusiastic people beating the barriers and shouting encouragement. It really was the closest experience to actually taking part in a big race. Soon we were back in the City - through Trafalgar Square and onto the Mall - there was the finish line at the end - we joined arms and crossed the line together, giving a final punch into the air at the last second. We had done it.

We met up with the girls, took photos and collected our medals and goodie bags - then the walk up to Marble Arch and across to Park Lane where we'd got the transport waiting. We loaded the bikes and set off as quick as possible - deciding to stop for a celebratory drink on the way home. We found a nice pub - The Fishery - or similar, close to Hemel Hempstead - a couple of pints of cold Peroni and a  bowl of chips and we were feeling great!

There is some bad news though - I just read that someone died on Leith Hill, that's what caused it to be closed just before we due to go up. Very sad.

Dunwich Dynamo - Done....

After the nightmare of the Bruges expedition our next challenge arrived with barely a chance for the wounds to heal. I’d muttered to Gary that I’d probably give it a miss – I was down and defeated after Bruges and didn’t feel strong enough to tackle another 100+ ride. My back is still sore, mentally I feel weak – I just wanted to have a rest, look into what I can do to help my back problem and ease off on the cycling for a while. But we’d booked accommodation in Southwold after the ride and I decided I might as well have a go – couldn’t be any worse than Bruges.

The Dunwich Dynamo is a 120 mile ride through the night from Hackney in London to the lost city of Dunwich on the Suffolk coast. The story goes that, one night in the pub, some London bike couriers decided it would be good to ride through some countryside – they ended up watching the sunrise on the Suffolk coast and the Dynamo was born. It has been running since the early 90s I think, every year on the Saturday closest to full moon in July. Thousands of cyclists gather at London Fields and gradually set off for Dunwich – there’s no organisation; no support; no logical reason to do it. It’s a beautiful thing.

We loaded the car and drove down late on Saturday afternoon – our plan was to arrive at the ‘gathering’ point at around 7.00 and see what happened. When we arrived the streets and park were already teaming with cycles and cyclists of every description and denomination. The atmosphere was more like a pop festival than a cycle ride, the pub was rammed with queues for drinks spilling out onto the pavement. Already there were people drifting off in dribs and drabs, under the blue bridge and disappearing out of sight, like they’d passed into another dimension. Difficult to be accurate with numbers – as people set off more seem to arrive – I heard someone say that there were about 5000 riders this year – I wouldn’t dispute that.

One of the nicest things about the DD is it’s total lack of organisation – no slick advertising campaign, no merchandise, no emails, no letters, nobody to question and no one to complain to. The whole thing works on tradition and word of mouth – you’re pretty much on your own on this one.

As we were hanging round deciding what to do a man with a camera asked us for an interview for a documentary he is making about the ride – this wasn’t a TV or film crew, just a lone individual, spending his time recording the event and the riders. Turned out that he’s done the ride four times anyway, this year his plan was to capture as many interviews and footage as he could. With that out of the way we ambled towards the unofficial ‘start line’ – the road from the pub to the blue bridge. And we were off.

The first miles are very urban – stop-start-stop-start – traffic lights, roundabouts, pelican crossings, lots of traffic – we picked our way through the masses, always it seemed, travelling a little quicker than those in front of us. Before long we are out of the tentacles of London and into the Essex countryside, the sun fades and the ride starts proper with twinkling lights fading into the distance and trees lurking in distinctively thrilling shapes. No need to worry about navigation on this ride – just follow the constant stream of riders and look out for the occasional jam-jar with a candle in it to indicate a turn off. We were going well, riding at a steady high pace and passing many, many riders. Every pub had a buzzing swarm of cyclists gathered outside eager for the nectar inside – we joined in at one pub, 11.00ish, sitting outside at a wooden table amazed at the neverending passage of blinking white and red lights. Apparently we pass through some beautiful countryside on this route – possibly – we couldn’t see much further than the few yards in front of us. We passed a few ‘pop-up’ stalls, set up by enterprising folk making a few quid on the side selling, drinks, food, innertubes, to support flagging riders. We even spotted a bike shop – open at about 3.30am! Somewhere or other we came across a firestation – turned over to a burger-bar with the firemen selling their wares for charity – the place is packed, there are queues for burgers from every direction, the grassy verges outside the station are strewn with bikes – there a number of riders curled up asleep – it all seems totally wacky.

In the dark I see a shape zoom past that I believe to be Gary – I chase after him, struggling to keep up as he gradually edges further into the gloomy murk. For some miles I pedal hard hoping to catch him – I pass a couple of pubs with crowds of cyclists strewn around, there are locals having a barbie, drinking and shouting encouragement as we pass – but still no sign of Gary?

After probably 10 miles I stop and try to reach him on the mobile – I cross to the opposite side of the road to make it easier to set off again afterwards – He picks up but then the signal is lost – next second my phone rings and I can see its Gary calling – I answer, at the same time turning to look across the road – there, underneath the lamppost is Gary calling me! – Turns out he wasn’t in front of me after all – he’d been trying to catch up with me!

The thing about the Dunwich Dynamo is gloriously without point, and times almost surreal. All of life on wheels is represented; club riders whooshing off into the distance, couples on tourers and tandems, their lives bundled up into their weighty panniers, pals from the pub out for a lark whose jocularity fades as dawn approaches… The question from querulous bystanders is ‘what is it for’ – a difficult question to answer really, but ‘for fun’ sums it up – or even ‘absolutely nothing’ But bemusement isn’t the only reaction, it is amazing how many people are still up in the early hours, clapping and cheering as we pass. In some cases we could hear them but not see them.

Suddenly its light again – we’ve cycled from London – we’re almost at the coast – My back is aching and Gary’s back wheel sounds like a cement mixer – but we’re okay. Another few miles and we’ve made it. We arrive at Dunwich and walk onto the beach. Cycles and cyclists are strewn about on the pebbles, some riders are fast asleep as if on expensive mattresses. The café is open and doing a roaring trade – its warm, there’s laughter and chit-chat waffling around, people are posing for celebratory selfies – I take off my shoes and take a paddle in the sea – there are a few people going the whole hog, totally stripped and swimming. We wander to the pub – already packed solid and serving breakfasts for £20 a pop. We opt for a couple of pints and a bag of crisps - its 5.00am.

We chat to a few people, drink another pint and then start thinking about carrying on our journey to meet with the girls and friends in Southwold. Strangely I don’t feel tired? – The adrenaline rush has left me elated, I feel high, The prospect of another 10 miles to Southwold doesn’t worry me – although I question the sanity of quite a number of riders who are setting off to cycle back to London! – One way is good enough for us.

Having ‘ticked off’ the Dynamo I’m amused by a description of the event from one of the websites….. it’s a traditional event, something like Christmas but with less eating and more travelling by bike.

This blog is out of sync - sorry - can't keep up with everything thats going on. Next up though, The Prudential Ride London 2015!

Its pay day! - sponsors welcome....

Hello all...

Last day of the month, you've been paid, think how much better you'd feel by making a small contribution to our quest to raise money for a good cause.

We'll be out on the Prudential Ride London ride this Sunday - 100 miles around London and Surrey, more big hills and backache! Fundraising is going well for Blind veterans (thanks to all of you!) but we'd like to make it an especially big contribution this year - so if any of you can spare a few quid, click the link to the right of this post and follow the instructions - it's safe and secure.

Thanks

Barton in the Beans to Bruges.....

We set off on the first of our annual ‘challenges’ on a bright, warm sunny afternoon. I had booked a half day off work, raced home, got changed and wheeled out my bike just as Gary pulled onto the drive. Ten minutes later we were on our way, heading from Barton in the Beans to Bruges via Northampton, Tilbury, Folkestone and Calais. A journey of 300 miles with three days to complete.

It all started off very well, a few gentle hills through Earl Shilton and the outskirts of Leicester but mostly beautiful English countryside at the height of its powers. After about 30 miles I started to feel very tired – a combination of the heat and a 5.30am start this morning were catching up. My feet were hurting and so was my back. I’ve been struggling with my back since Christmas – and while it’s not totally incapacitating it does give me some Gip!

We passed through Naseby, pausing at the village sign and looking out for any marauding roundheads . Soon after Gary’s bike developed a strange ‘grating’ noise from somewhere towards his rear end. We stopped to have a fiddle but nothing was apparent. We pressed on to our overnight stop at Moulton, just outside Northampton. A large hotel/guesthouse firmly seated in the 70s tradition of hotel décor but comfortable enough and with an excellent pub just a walk around the corner, ideal for our needs. We enjoyed a few pints of 'Sunchaser' I think it was -  helped down with a mound of fish and chips. A Jazz band  started their set and we sat, contentedly, at the bar. Then Gary had a cramp attack, his screams in perfect harmony with the be-bop tunes from the band. Back at our room we consulted our iPhones and found a number of cycle shops within a few miles, Gaz was keen to get his wheel diagnosed and we decided to delay setting off in the morning, call round a few shops to find one familiar with Mavic wheels and detour there to get the thing sorted. Phone calls would commence at 9.00am sharp.

Breakfast was okayish – and once done Gary started on the phoning. Meanwhile I popped to the shops to buy a roll of sellotape. We’d sent parcels ahead with clothes etc – but nothing to reseal the packages for their return journey. When I got back Gary had found a suitable local bike shop ‘just two miles away’ he said. Perfect.

Ten miles later and feeling like we were going round in circles the iPhone came in handy again – Google maps coming to the rescue to find a route through a park and, finally, to the shop situated at the edge of a lake. The lad at the counter was helpful, the mechanic not so. 

‘Dunno’ he said 

‘Ain’t see nuffin like that before’ 

But can you look at it enquired Gary….

‘Yeah, probably, but not for an hour or so’

Gary resisted the temptation to flatten him on the spot, opting instead for the entirely sensible option of buying another set of wheels instead.

‘No problem’ said the helpful one

‘But you’ll need to go to our other shop’

Thankfully that was just a stones throw away. Ten minutes later Gary was the proud owner of a spanking new, shiny set of wheels. Just need to pop back to shop 1 now to get them fitted.

Once there Mr Awkward had turned into Mr Helpful. He’d fixed the problem, which, according to him was just ‘a bit of shit in the hub’

Gaz, now somewhat flustered with the tooing and froing decided to have his old wheel back on the bike – and his new set posted to him at home – he’ll use them on one of his older bikes.

So, just a ten mile ride back to our start point and we’ll be ready for the off.

After such a wearying start to proceedings we were dramatically behind schedule. It was 11.00am before we set off from where we’d been staying the night before. Our destination was Horndon on the Hill, somewhere North of Tilbury Docks. We initially made reasonable progress but it wasn’t long before I started to suffer with backache, quickly followed by footache. We stopped at Newport Pagnell for a bite of lunch and a pint of shandy. It was roasting hot, I could have happily dropped to sleep. We pressed on, past the Aston Martin factory and gradually working our way South. We meandered around Milton Keynes and on through Stevenage towards Epping. My back was sore but my arse was worse. I’ve cycled thousands of miles over the past few years and never had a problem my undercarriage.

Popular myth has it that eating a curry the night before is a major cause (not guilty), closely followed by not shaving your perineum (guilty) – some even say that saddle sores are more common around Mardi Gras. Whatever the cause I was in some considerable discomfort, probably not helped by my continual adjustment of riding position to alleviate backache. In the old days cyclists would put slabs of raw steak in their shorts to cushion the abraded area – a remedy that I would happily have tried if there’d been a butcher handy. Even the pro’s, hardened by thousands of miles in the saddle every year fall victim to what is commonly known as ‘crotchitis’ – Fabled riders such as Eddy Merckx and Sean Kelly have abandoned races when the pain became too great.

I soldiered on – disgruntled, agitated, wishing it was over. Our stops were becoming increasingly frequent. I said to Gaz that I couldn’t ride any further – I’d have to be picked up by International Rescue…. Please don’t make me get back on the bike. As we toiled up another hill Gary caught his rear wheel on a stone which somehow managed not only to puncture his tube but also gash a hole in the side of his tyre. I welcomed the enforced break but felt slightly concerned at how far we had fallen behind. It took about a half hour to patch up the tyre and repair the puncture. By now Gary’s GPS device was running out of battery life. Only one thing to do here – stop at a pub, get a drink, ask the barman to plug it in for a while. This we did – in fact we did it twice.

By about 9.00pm we were somewhere near Billericay. We’d ridden over 100 miles. It was getting dark. Gary had a couple of pea sized lights which were better than nothing -  which is precisely what I had. Gary put the red rear light on my bike and I held my phone in front of me with the flashlight app on. Totally useless for illumination but at least oncoming traffic would see something. By the time we reached Billericay it was more or less total darkness. The GPS had long since gone to sleep for the day. We decided to find a taxi to complete the final few miles, much safer and we’d get to our B&B before the deadline. This we did – hiring a minibus to take us to The Bell Inn. – good job we did , we were further away that we had thought, the journey by taxi took about half an hour – we arrived at the pub at about 11.00pm – we’d cycled 118 miles were totally knackered, hungry and, in my case, very sore.

Thankfully International Rescue (Kate and Val) had called ahead and arranged for sandwiches and cheese to be left in our room – unfortunately there was no raw steak. We didn’t even manage to get a drink, just wolf down the food, take a shower and then bed…..

Next morning I started the day with a healthy cocktail of painkillers. My back felt reasonable but my bum was red-raw. Breakfast was taken in a very stylish conservatoire, continental in style and menu with ‘help yourself’ croissants, ham and cheese. We opted for the full English. By 9.00am we were about to set off. By 9.01 I was in agony. As soon as my rear end settled itself onto the saddle I knew this was going to be a tough day – I was immediately in total discomfort. I took some more painkillers and carried on. We were heading for a ferry across the Thames around Tilbury Docks to take us across to Gravesend. Gary had found another bike shop there – this time he intended to get a replacement tyre. The ride to Tilbury was just about bearable – at least the pain from my arse distracted me from the pain in my back. The crossing was a short affair but at least I didn’t have to sit on the saddle. All too soon we were across the water and heading for the bike shop – I opted to push my bike through the town – less painful. With a new rear tyre for Gary and a handful of energy gels for me we headed towards Rochester and another river crossing via the bridge there. We stopped for a coffee overlooking the castle before remounting and tackling what was the longest hill so far, out of Rochester heading South towards Folkestone. We were in Kent now ambling over the Kent Downs passing through various pretty villages the names of which I forgot to record. My total fixation was the pain and suffering I was inflicting on myself – sheer misery isn’t anywhere near a strong enough description. We stopped somewhere for lunch – Godknows where but I remember the pub was called ‘The Dirty Habit’ – with a picture of a nun on the sign I think? It was a quiet place but good food if a little meagre. We noticed that we were on the Pilgrims Way and the single track road that Gary had found would have been a satisfyingly beautiful ride in any other circumstances. Somewhere on this route I pulled over to answer the call of nature – I texted Gary, telling him to pull over at the next junction and wait for me. He called me a little while later asking where I was – I was just setting out back on the road – but I never found him. I came to the first junction, no sign of him so I stayed on the main road – I passed a pub, more junctions – still no Gaz? – We spoke on the phone and he said he’d head back – but after half an hour we gave up – It was everyman for himself – meet at the Premier Inn, Folkestone. I’d passed a signpost for Hythe so I knew I was roughly heading in the right direction. By now my phone had died so no help from Google maps – I saw a man in his garden and asked him for directions – and then tackled a series of long, steep inclines that left my back trembling and my arse like someone had attacked it with a flamethrower. As I crawled up the next hill a cyclist overtook me – I called out to him – 

‘….Help me, please…. do you have any raw steak?’ 

Actually I asked him if I was on the right road to Hythe. He said kind of but asked me what address – I told him that actually it was Folkestone I was looking for and that I knew it was a shortish ride along the coast from Hythe – He told me there was a better way and said he’d ride with me for a few miles. Turns out this guy was a local racing cyclist out on a regular training ride. I told him it was a bit hilly for me, but he and his mate would go out in search of big hills and race each other to the top! – Nutters! We were moving along at a steady pace now – the idle chit-chat distracting me from the glowing pain in my nether regions. Then, as we toiled up yet another hill, I heard a familiar voice from behind…..‘Wanker’…..  We both looked round expecting some disgruntled motorist to lay into us for riding two-abreast – but no – amazingly it was Gary… he’d somehow met up with us an hour or so after we lost each other. I’m still amazed by this… of all the country lanes and tracks in the county of Kent he managed to pick the one we were on.

Now we were ‘together’ again and the friendly racing snake disappeared in a puff of chamois cream. But that was fine, we were back on track – Folkestone just a few miles hence. The last couple of miles passed quite quickly – we got a bit of a spurt on riding into Folkestone and there at the end, sitting on an outside table, in the sunshine were two pints of Stella Artois – courtesy of the girls from International Rescue – perfect. I maneuvered myself tentatively from my mount and hobbled to the table like an old man of 90 – if there’d been a zimmerframe I’d have used it. I was totally, totally wrecked, damaged, destroyed. All I could think of was lying down in a darkened room…. And raw steak.

The tunnel trip across to Calais was its usual uneventful self. I dozed uncomfortably in the car and then we were there. A short drive through Calais to the hotel, unload the bikes and bags and we were done. Unfortunately I was in no state  to celebrate our arrival in France. All I could manage was a glass of water and straight to bed. My undercarriage remained painfully sore – a plate of Steak Tartar would have been useful maybe? Our support team, after travelling from the Midlands, picking up our bags from the overnight stops on their way, were left to find their own entertainment for the evening (sorry girls!). Apparently there was a Cirque de Soleil type circus in the town square and a big firework display at the end. Despite it being no more than a hundred yards away  I didn’t hear a thing.

 

There are many examples of riders continuing despite serious injuries – Tyler Hamilton rode the 2003 Tour de France with a broken collarbone – the pain so intense that he ground down his teeth to stubs during the process. Bernard Hinault rode through a blizzard and ended up with frostbitten fingers, so bad that they remain numb to this day. Geraint Thomas rode the Tour after fracturing his pelvis…. I have massive admiration for these and all the other ‘heroes’ – but I’m not a professional – I’m doing this for fun, for enjoyment, for pleasure. There should be no shame in abandoning a ride – it happens all the time in cycling. So reluctantly, on Saturday morning I announced that I couldn’t make the final stage. I did try sitting on the bike but the pain was just unbearable. Sad but unavoidable, and compounded by the fact that the hard work was done. The final stage along the coast through Dunkirk and into Belgium was flat – it would have been fairly easy in normal circumstances. It’s a shame but there it is.

After a few days in Bruges I felt much better. My injuries were such that as long as I didn’t go near a bike saddle I was okay. We spent time exploring this wonderful City and sampling some of the Belgium beers. The Bed and Breakfast we stayed in was the best ever and I came home forgetting the worst and determined to complete our next challenge – The Dunwich Dynamo.

The Hour Record - Bradley Wiggins smashes it!

Bradley Wiggins demonstrated a mesmeric, metronomic performance yesterday on the London Olympic Games velodrome to ride himself into cycling's record books and set the new world record for distance covered in one hour.

54.526 kilometres, a dizzying one and a half kilometres further than the previous mark set by his fellow Briton Alex Dowsett whose tenure at the top of the list lasted only five weeks. The iconic hour record has an essential simplicity which has given the event a lustre that has lasted since its inception in 1893. The cycling greats who have held this record are a select group of legendary names: Eddy Merckx, Miguel Indurain, Jaques Anquetil, Fausto Coppi, Chris Boardman and Graeme Obree to name a few. And now Bradley Wiggins can share their illustrious company.

Wiggins was hoping to break the 55 kilometre barrier and put the record out of site, at least for the foreseeable future, however atmospheric conditions weren't favourable enough to enable him to make that target a possibility - an anti-cyclone air pressure of 1036 cost him around 700 metres he believed, - but the bar has definitely been raised significantly, probably enough to deter anyone else making an attempt for a while.

Bradley made the whole thing look so simple - but remember , he rode for an hour at an average speed of around 34mph - 'It was torture' he said at the end 'Physically I was on the red line where you can't go harder but you're hanging on to what you've got'

As he said afterwards, this is the perennial attraction - the link to the greats from the past, the history, the record boils down to a man on his own against the clock - counting down lap after interminable lap.

Well done Brad - outstanding performance and a great achievement in the twilight of an illustrious career.

The Dordogne - not easy for cycling.....

I've been away on a belated 'la lune de miel' to France. This time to the Dordogne region - first time  to this area and well worth the effort of getting there. As we drove through beautiful forests, past rocky outcrops and alongside wide meandering rivers I couldn't help notice the complete lack of cyclists. Where were they? - It seemed to me perfect conditions; quiet, mostly empty roads, sunny weather and perfect scenery. It was a mystery.

We stayed in a small, stone built gite, owned by an English couple who had given up the rat-race and were living their dream. Like I always do on holiday, I look around and think.... 'Yes - this would do me'. We arrived on a Saturday after driving through France with a couple of overnight stops at Amien and Tours - both pleasant enough. The weather was kind, we enjoyed constant warmth and sunshine for the journey, although it did get somewhat cooler in the evenings.

I'd taken both my bikes, the old one for pootling around and the newer for a long, hard-core session. On Sunday morning I set off to explore the lanes in the immediate vicinity - just a few easy miles I thought. That's when I found out why you don't see so many cyclists in these parts. Its hilly. And by hilly I mean long, steep roads that go on and on. To make matters worse our gite was in a village pretty much on top of a hill. Every road out was a fast, unrelenting white knuckle affair through dark, sun-dappled forests for what seemed like miles. Not knowing the terrain I made liberal use of the brakes, at the bottom of each descent my rims were red hot and as I paused to consult the map I realised I was in for a hard time.

There was very little in the way of 'flat' roads - it was a constantly undulating ride - with long, long uphill stretches - all of them steeper and harder than the stuff I'm used to at home, and each effort leaving me gasping for air and with legs like jelly.  On top of that there were many small side roads, surfaced in what appeared to be limestone chippings, loose and dusty and reflecting the sunlight so that I was constantly blinded by the intense glare. That first morning I managed only 6 or 7 miles and felt totally shattered. I spoke to Glenn (the owner of the gite), himself a cyclist, a man with the gaunt, lean look of someone who rides these roads regularly. 'Ah yes its pretty hilly round here - but you get used to it' he said with a smile. Maybe he was right, but I only had a week, I'd need much longer.

We spent time exploring the area. If any of you are tempted by a trip to the Dordogne I'd thoroughly recommend it - its a big area but the part we stayed in was particularly enjoyable. We spent time in the town of Sarlat - I think probably the prettiest French town I have ever seen. Imagine how Walt Disney might portray a typical French town and you'll get the idea. Beautiful medieval buildings, cobbled streets and squares, a myriad of narrow alleyways smothered with bars, cafes and local shops. With the sun beating down, just lazing around here, with a cold beer was simply perfect.

I intended to cycle every day - but the prospect of getting up and facing those hills first thing in the morning left me uninspired and after the first couple of days I limited my efforts considerably. We visited the caves at Lascaux to look at the prehistoric paintings - one of the highlights of the whole trip. And travelled into the valley of the Dordogne river - taking in a boat trip and visiting Les Jardins de Marqueyssac, with an amazing swirl of box hedges set high above the river. At last I saw a few cyclists - the gentle valley roads and the sunny warmth tempting out the locals. In these parts there's a Chateau on pretty much every corner, we visited one built high up on a rocky outcrop, some of the interior rooms were built into the rock and there was a particularly nasty dungeon with a collection of various methods of torture. Some evenings I managed a short ride to the bottom of the hill and back up again - a torture that could easily have been added to the dungeon of that chateau.

Back at the gite we sat out on long evenings enjoying the warmth and playing backgammon - listening to cuckoos and watching lizards dart around our feet. When darkness finally fell it was with an intensity unfamiliar to us - there are no street lights here - no light pollution at all. And so quiet that simply breathing sounded loud. Before we knew it it was time to return. That horrible moment when suddenly its all over and the prospect of returning and impending work starts creeping back into your mind. But no matter, this was a great break and we will be going back to explore further - its on the list.

The gardens of Marqueyssac

Lascaux

Happiness is a warm spring....

Step out and look. 

The sudden growth is a remarkable thing, if you could hear it there would be the deafening hum of a million buds emerging and stems flexing. There is a tide of green, sweeping up over bare earth, cloaking it as fast as the leaves above fill out. The incredible thing is how fast all this happens. Blink and you'll miss the soft marbling of the new leaves, the peonies opening and the primrose cups filled already with bees.

And with all this energy, new life and optimism it is the perfect time to get out on the bike. I think this is the best time for cycling, the freshness and clarity is sublime, and with light evenings and kind weather there isn't a better time for riding.

I've been managing to ride to work a couple of times a week and then slotting in a longish ride on Saturdays. Last weekend I met up with Gary, Paul from over the road and the new kid on the block, David.

David is a Villa supporter so immediately qualifies as a top man. And he's riding a top-spec Specialized machine with upgraded carbon wheels - very nice.

We met up at Snarestone and rode a circular route via quiet lanes, to the Upton Bench, then over to Sibson, Sheepy Parva, Orton on the Hill, Clifton, Lullington, Coton in the Elms, Walton through to Barton under Needwood and then back - for me a ride of 62 miles and the perfect route for a Saturday morning. Gary and Paul from over the road were flying - it was a case of hanging on really.

With May well underway Gary and I are conscious that we have some big rides looming up - we don't take these things lightly, as we demonstrated last Friday with a pre-ride session of 6 pints of beer and a curry. The pro-peloton should give it a try.

Here's few photos from my 'ride to work' route.

Thornton Reservoir

Fields around Markfield

Stream through to Glenfield

Bluebells at Ratby

Passing underneath the M1

Leicester Centre

Cycling to work....

As the days grow lighter and the weather brightens I have made the effort to cycle to work on a couple of days over the past week. It seems to me the ideal way to save money on fuel and also to get in some much needed miles, our challenges for the year are creeping ever closer and my bike fitness has never been worse!

My route to Leicester City Centre is a mixture of quiet country roads, cycle paths and trails and busy main roads. Like any major city the traffic is heavy, sometimes my journey in the car will take 90 minutes, in the main though I go early and avoid most of the congestion, downside is that I'm at work an hour before I should be - but rather that than sit in a traffic jam. The cycling route is 15 miles door to door, or 17 miles if I avoid one of the many severe hills. The logistics need thorough planning. I have to take in work clothes in the car, washing kit and shoes etc. My plan is to cycle in two days per week initially so I need a change of shirts/socks/pants - all of this is duly stored in the corner of my office and I'm all set to give it a try.

I'm up at 5.15am, dressed and ready to leave by 5.50, unlocking the garage and getting the bike ready, a squirt of oil and I'm off. It's 6.00am - just getting light, to be on the safe side I click on my lights but I'll only need them for 10 minutes or so. There's a swooping descent not far from home and I register 29mph as I career towards the bottom, unfortunately the rise up on the other side is just as dramatic and my speed drops to 6mph. It's a shock to the system at this time in the morning. The roads are quiet, maybe one or two cars pass but nothing more. I pass through the outskirts of Bagworth heading for Thornton, another death defying descent followed by a steep slog into the village. I turn left and pass alongside the reservoir, the water is calm and shines like molten steel as the early morning light reflects off the surface. There's another steep rise now, really challenging, I need all my gears as I crawl toward the top, then its across the road and onto the first cycle track heading to Ratby. This will be beautiful in a week or two, a narrow, smooth surfaced path winding through woodland and across a golf course, its mainly downhill but make a mental note that it will be mainly uphill on my return.

Another steep, swooping descent into Ratby, on either side of the track are ploughed fields lying in a kind of corduroy effect accentuated by the early sunlight. Each foot-deep furrow is walled with gleaming slabs of earth - probably too late now for frosts to break them down.  At the end of this stretch i join the main road before turning left onto another track heading to Glenfield. I pass underneath the M1 and then there's a marvellous, smooth stretch of pristine tarmac. It's pan-flat and a pleasure to ride on. White- barked larches and silver birch populate the verges with fields of sheep and a few ponies beyond a stream running parallel with the route. A few tight corners and I pass underneath the M1 again, this time its a low tunnel with the stream running alongside, another sharp corner and then another stretch of relatively smooth, tree-lined tarmac. There's some industrial units to one side as I get closer to the city, but no sign of anyone at this time in the morning. As I approach the end of the track at Glenfield there are a few dog walkers on the path, everyone greets me with a 'good morning'

I rejoin the main road and cycle up towards the council offices at Gelnfield, then its another drag of a hill up past Glenfield Hospital and then down towards the city centre. Although I'm riding along a very busy main road, I'm actually on a cycle path which takes up a section of the pavement - no people around to worry about so I feel totally safe. After a couple of miles I turn onto the final section of cycle path into the city, through grassy glades with trees and hedges, and allotments and children's play areas I ride alongside the river arriving finally at Bow Bridge - where, up until a couple of years ago, it was thought Richard III's body was thrown into the river after the battle at Bosworth. I'm in the thick of it now, multi-laned traffic, cars and buses everywhere. I stay on the pavement and make my way to the pedestrianised section of the high street, amazingly cycling is allowed here and I glide down towards humberstone gate and then on to work. We have a secure bike shed and shower facilities. I'm in, showered and ready for work by 7.45am - I have to admit, there's a sense of achievement and satisfaction.

Sunshine, Carbon and Payback....

March started out a good month for me. I finally got motivated into putting in a few miles. I'd been in a state of virtual hibernation since last November - virtually asleep most of the time and virtually no miles on the bike. To be honest I was dreading getting back on - any excuse would stop me. Its raining, It's been raining, It might rain, Its cold, Too dark, Too windy,  - anything would be better than going out on the bike and it didn't take much to stop me. The trouble is we've got stuff planned - rides looming up, and I know that they come round quick. I had to snap out of it and get the bike out - and I did. I rode to my Mums every Saturday in March, I even managed to cycle into work twice, and did an evening sprint in the dark on one wednesday. I covered almost 300 miles up until the last week - and I thought I might achieve 400 - but then I picked up a mystery bug which confined me to bed for two days and left me feeling tired, achy and worn out for the best part of a week - so i've had just over a week off again - its a set back but the bright sunny day that was Easter Monday gave me no option but to get out and enjoy.

And I did. It was warm - almost 20 degrees here - and I put on shorts and a short-sleeve top for the first time this year. My 'new' carbon bike has been hanging on the wall in the garage since last October - it desperately needs a service - but the mood was so optimistic that I couldn't resist pulling her down, pumping up the tyres and setting off regardless. And it felt good - so fast and smooth - its always a great revelation jumping back onto a thoroughbred after spending the winter pushing an old nag around - the difference is incredible. I didn't go very far - 15 miles or so, but it was so much easier, faster and smoother - it made me smile. Best of all I sped past at least four other cyclists - as if they were stationary - payback for all the times I've been the dawdler!

Steve Abraham - One Year Time Trial.....

I'm been meaning to mention Steve Abraham on this blog for a while now - never seem to get round to it - but I have now.

I often wonder who is looking at these pages? - I imagine Gary and I make up the majority of visits, but then there have been over 43,000 hits since we started - take out the 30,000 for me and Gaz and that still leaves a few thousand people - are they cyclists? - in the main probably yes. But then there may be a few people who find the site by chance, who are maybe considering the Le Jog challenge and doing a bit of online research - the reason I mention this is because I think that anyone with more than a passing interest in cycling will already know about Steve Abraham and what he is attempting. But for those who don't, the passing blow-in who is starting out, the idle browser.... here is an introduction to Steve Abraham and his 'One Year Time Trial'.

First a bit of history.

Tommy Godwin in action

In 1939 a cyclist called Tommy Godwin set the world record for miles cycled in a year. Incredibly he cycled 75.065 miles. Just consider that for a minute. Averaging 205 miles a day - every day, Christmas Day, through snow, rain wind, no matter if he was ill, feeling tired or just fed up - every single day out there on the bike.... anyone who has cycled a hundred miles will know how it feels at the end of the day, a few will have managed 150 or even (fewer still) 200 miles. The idea of doing that every day for a year is mind boggling - it just doesn't seem possible, outside the bounds of human endurance? But not only did Tommy achieve it, he set the record that's stood the test of time, he did it on a steel bike with only 4 gears and when he ended his record breaking year - what did he do? - He carried on. Becoming the record holder for the fastest man to achieve 100,000 miles. At that point he called it a day and set about learning to walk again.

Steve Abraham

Fast forward to 4.00am January 1st 2015 and Steve Abraham, 40 years old and already a legendary long distance rider within the Audax fraternity, sets off with the aim of beating the 76 year old record. He has been planning it for 2 years and has a year off work to make it happen. For the next twelve months he will toil long and hard on the roads around his home town of Milton Keynes, occasionally travelling out to stay overnight with a volunteer who will feed him and give him a bed for the night. It's a relentless schedule but by the end of March Steve has racked up 16,888 miles (that's right, in just 3 months) compared to Tommy Godwins total of 14,364 at the same point - it's all looking remarkably good. And then disaster, Steve is struck by a moped and falls from his bike breaking his ankle in two places. Amazingly he carries on for a few hours until the pain becomes unbearable - a trip to hospital confirms the extent of his injuries and he undergoes an operation to fix the broken bones. He's now in plaster. For mere mortals this would surely be the end of a valiant attempt? But for Steve - No.

This just gets more and more unbelievable. He decides to carry on the attempt. Riding a specially adapted recumbent bicycle (one of those bikes that looks like the rider is lying on the floor). The bike is adapted so that his broken ankle is in a 'resting' position - not unlike lying on a sofa - whilst his other 'good' leg does all the pedalling - its not ideal but apparently he's hoping to ride 100 miles a day with just the one leg. And being outside in the sunlight will aid his recovery - the Vitamin D will help the healing process. The 'advantage' miles he had built up since New Years day will disappear - but in 6 weeks or so he should be able to cycle with two legs again - then he has the summer to get back on track.

It's just an incredible story - I'm hoping someone is following with cameras and that there'll be a documentary at the end - and if he achieves it, breaks the record, I should think some sort of honour would be inevitable - after all Bradley became a knight and he only rode a couple of thousand miles when he won The Tour!

Keep track of how Steve is doing at:
http://oneyeartimetrial.org.uk

Richard III - bones and bikes....

Mid march can be a strange time of year - what should be early spring can feel like late winter pared down to the very bone. Aside from the, as yet, flowerless daffodil spikes and the barrage of sounds from the rookery across the road there is little sense of life's return.

Somewhat ironic then that this weekend sees the mortal remains of Richard III transported to his final resting place more than 500 years after his death in battle. Crowds have gathered along the route which sees the lead-lined oak coffin of the last Plantaganet King carried from the place he died, through the Leicestershire countryside to Leicester Cathedral. And I decided it would be right and fitting for me to ride along for a while - after all, the journey covers some of my most popular routes.

It was the perfect day to move a King. Blue skies, sunny and not a hint of Lancastrian forces to be seen. Everywhere there are people walking, with portable seats and some with picnics, captivated by the story of the last English King to die in battle and determined to make a day of it.

I ride through Bosworth where the barriers are already holding back a line of people perhaps two or three deep. I pause to ask one of the stewards exactly which road Richard would be coming in on, she didn't know - I decided to head to Sutton Cheney - I know that there's just one road through the village and that the cortege would be stopping at the church - the very one that Richard heard his final mass before the battle. The road is blocked with people and I can't get through, but I remember there's a footpath that will take me behind the church and back onto the road leading to the Bosworth Battlefield Tourist Centre - I opt for that and find a position on the pavement to watch from. There are men dressed in armour who march ahead of the funeral cortege, and then a group of police motorcycle outriders with lights flashing - Then he's here, the oak coffin clearly visible in the hearse. There is a pause at the church, some words are said but Richard remains inside the hearse, then they're off again towards the Battlefield visitor centre - I get a few photos and a couple of video clips before setting off down the gated lane back to Bosworth.

Everywhere there are crowds of people, familys, walkers, cyclists. In Bosworth the streets are jam packed - all the shops are open and theres a farmers' market as well. The chip shop - The Batter of Bosworth - is doing a roaring trade, as I cycle up to the market square a little boy cries after dropping his saveloy sausage.

I pick my way through the throng and make my way to the church, the bells are ringing and there are people gathered taking photos and wandering around. Richard is on his way and will be heading from here to Newbold Verdon and Desford and then to Leicester City - he's got another 20 miles or so to go.

The landscape of medieval churches, low hills and country lanes has changed surprisingly little since the last time Richard's body was carried to Leicester - although this journey, slow, escorted by knights, prayed over by a bishop and many priests and greeted by people lining village streets and country lanes has been very different this time round. As I cycle homeward past crowds still gathering I ponder the eccentricity of it all: here is a King, hated at his time of reign, castigated by Shakespeare, a possible child murderer and yet now somehow reviled - the whole show has a mix of sombre occassion and Disney-like flamboyance, but I'm glad I managed to get out to see it.

Pub sign - Marstons Pedigree Beer!

Beginnings....

Truth be told, I've been in a kind of winter slump. No matter how much I think about getting out, I look outside, see the dark, windy, cold vista and snuggle up under the duvet instead. Of course I know this needs to stop, it feels like months since i've done any meaningful miles, and yet I can't get motivated.

This past weekend saw a change to my 'black dog' thinking. The moment had at last arrived when a longing for spring rides returned. On Saturday I set out with determined and purposeful intentions. A long ride over to visit my Mother in Barton under Needwood would be ideal to.... get the ball rolling - more aptly, get the wheels rolling.

It was overcast as I set off, winter has drained all colour from the landscape and somehow refuses to relent. Birds seem unable to settle, daffodil heads remain tight as clenched fists, I notice some catkins, scorched by frost, having paid the price for precocity.

My riding is slow and tentative, every incline seems a struggle but I'm happy, on my old bike, to merely pootle along without a care. The great advantage of an old steel bike with straight bars is that there's no pressure to perform. If I get overtaken by a slender racing snake no matter, its a hollow victory for him, there's no satisfaction in catching a bike like mine, I know, I've done it loads. If I'd ventured out on my carbon it would be a different matter; with that machine comes the overwhelming need to 'go fast', to catch and not be caught. It's a place I don't want to be. Not yet.

As I meander along dry, empty lanes I have time to look. Branches are bare, witches' fingers poking into the sky which is brushed with streaks of blue-violet. The air is cold but there's a hint of yolk-yellow sun, occasionally breaking through the gunmetal clouds to place a walk palm between my shoulders.

Its been months since I made this journey on a bike, but I'm surprised that I'm making steady progress. I get to halfway thinking I'm doing well. I try to up the pace a tad as I pass through Netherseal and up the slow climb to Grangewood. Through Coton there is a procession of ducks crossing the road in a line. I pause for a minute in a secluded spot, a palette of earth brown and bog black. The brook trickles like a silver ribbon through the shade. There is a sweet scent of water and the alarm call of a blackbird to break the silence. On the village green there is a flash of spring colour, scores of snowdrops and a smattering of upright daffs displaying a welcome burst of sunlight yellow. A willow tree is covered with clusters of lime green catkins, lambs-tails as we called them as children.

I make my way up towards Walton then its a welcome descent to the village and on to Barton. I spend a couple of hours with Mum and then set off for home. The return is much, much tougher. For a start there's a headwind and the route is definitely more uphill than down. I struggle, puffing and panting, to get the bike up the hill out of Walton. There's a brief respite before more hills at Coton, Snarestone and Congerstone. By the time I reach home my legs are complaining. But I feel refreshed and somewhat content, 43 miles covered at an average no more than 12mph. Slow and steady but at least its a start. Question is can I do it again?

Prudential Ride London 2015....

The absolute soaking we got last year, plus numerous punctures, hasn't dampened our enthusiasm for this event!. Gary and I have entered again and we're in! - This time joined by a couple of others (Barry and David). We're raising funds for Blind Veterans so if you feel like making a contribution follow the link below!

Thanks

www.justgiving.com/Gary-Gee1

Cold spell...

Winter has arrived with a vengeance; the long autumn with days of flying brown leaves herded by warm, favourable winds have gone, replaced by the shock of cold. Bitter cold and fierce, it bit down on us like teeth and left the landscape scarred with frost so that the earth seemed skinned raw and the trees bared down to the black bone of branches.

And then, wave 2,  a downpour of snow - voluptuous flakes that fell with a mournful beauty, silent and steady - this was no peppering - roads and pavements were quickly covered and by morning my car seemed like a small white mound on the drive. Almost always after snow the sky clears. It becomes cloudless, more blue than summer; the sun and snow dazzling as light from a reflected mirror. For a day there was intense frost, then a thaw. And by the end of the week it was as though nothing had happened - at least not in the city where I work. The collective warmth of the huddled buildings had resisted the worst and while I set off from home with some reminder of winter, in town it is more like early spring.

I ventured out for a 15 mile ride yesterday - and a short 6 miles today - both in temperatures hovering around zero - but with a bright sun, azure blue sky and no noticeable wind, both were enjoyable excursions. Along the lanes dropping into Congerstone I notice catkins dangling from branches like left over Christmas decorations. Absurdly fragile and ephemeral yet exposed to the harshest of weather - a sign of spring, just as winter proper arrives?

I pass over the railway bridge and glance along the track as light floods between the trees, everywhere is silent, peaceful and calm - no sign of any other cyclists or walkers - I'm on my own and my mind flits and darts as I pass through Shackerstone and round in a loop through Newton Burgoland and back towards Congerstone. There is still snow on the fields - broken and patchy and arranged by the wind so that the effect is like sea-waves of white marble.

A solitary ride in freezing conditions can be a challenge - not least the motivation to gear-up and get out. But the effort was worth it today. I'm glad to be home in front of the fire - but getting out makes me more grateful for home comforts.

New year, New plans....

Happy New year to you all.

January is such an awkward month to begin a new year - someone should get it changed - all of those resolutions, to be better and purer; those vows to stop drinking and eat healthily; the perversions regarding fitness regimes and gym memberships..... all of these things in a month where you wake and dress at a time of day so dark it could easily be the middle of night, when sunlight visits for maybe an hour each day if we're lucky. Rather than a time for reinvention, resolutions and change January seems to me more a time for bedding down; staying with what you know, being comfortable.... surviving. New Year would be better starting in Spring or Summer - both times infinitely more suitable for embracing change. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against change, I love new bursts of energy and a life made up of different acts. I don't necessarily want to be the same person year after year, however New Years resolutions are never the way to change anything - particularly as they seem to involve, in the main, a massive denial of anything enjoyable, anything associated with fun. Surely life can only get better when you resolve to have as much of that as possible.

We've made some cycling plans for 2015 that continue our tried and tested methods. Namely a few decent long rides and a main 'target' - something to aim for.... a 'goal' ride.

We are planning riding to Skegness in April - that's a 100 miler (one way). We've done it a couple of times previously and its a good way to get a century into our legs early in the year - not too much uphill either. We intend to ride the Dunwich Dynamo this year - a mad ride from central London to the Suffolk coast - 100+ miles, riding through the night so that we arrive on Dunwich beach as dawn breaks. We've entered the Prudential Ride London again - that was a highlight from last year so we're hoping to repeat it - riding around London on traffic-free roads with thousands of other and crowds of  applauding spectators is a definite feel-good. Our main ride will be Barton in the Beans to Bruges. Yes we continue our alliterative escapes with a ride down to the coast, across to France and up the coast from Calais via Dunkirk and into Belgium. 300+ miles and a nice hotel break at the end. The Tour of Leicestershire last year was another good tester - I'm hoping we'll manage that again too.

So there it is. Plans?, Resolutons? - call it what you like - essentially it's cycling and, hopefully, fun.

Cycling rules from 1874......

Sound advice from our forefathers....