Wishing you all best wishes for Christmas and New Year
It all started in 2011 - we decided to ride Lands End to John O Groats, since then we've completed a number of 'challenges' raising over £15,000 for various charities. You can read about our adventures here, and also our on-going efforts to keep on cycling!
Friday, 19 December 2014
New Gear for Christmas?....
A scene all over the country this Christmas.....
Wishing you all best wishes for Christmas and New Year
Wishing you all best wishes for Christmas and New Year
Tuesday, 16 December 2014
To do list....
After another hectic weekend I've been working on a priority list for 2015. My two main bikes are in need of attention - the Trek hybrid is probably the most serious and needs some investigative and subsequent remedial work on the headset - not something I've tinkered with before. Plus, there is a problem somewhere in the bottom bracket area - then it needs the usual: chain, cassette, cables etc. At the moment I'm in no rush - but come the new year I think I'll want it sorted. My newer Trek - the Carbon jobby just needs a good service I think - definitely new brake blocks, chain, cassette - I'm wondering whether to change the pedals too - one came off last time I used it! In the meantime my trusty old steel mountain bike is my only option - which is fine - in fact I've been thinking of investing some time (and money) in some sort of 'restoration' - the bike is of a certain 'age' whereby it's almost worth considering.
I managed a short ride out this weekend - just 8 miles though - almost not worth bothering - getting ready took almost as long as the ride but at least it was a chance to get some fresh air and stretch my legs.
We're well underway with planning adventures for 2015 - a number of options have been tabled for our annual 'target' ride - something to aim for and think about during the cold, dark months. More to follow on those plans as they develop.
I managed a short ride out this weekend - just 8 miles though - almost not worth bothering - getting ready took almost as long as the ride but at least it was a chance to get some fresh air and stretch my legs.
We're well underway with planning adventures for 2015 - a number of options have been tabled for our annual 'target' ride - something to aim for and think about during the cold, dark months. More to follow on those plans as they develop.
Friday, 12 December 2014
Cold blast...
At last we're getting some proper winter weather - my tin of spray-on deicer has seen some action this week. Today though is a few notches warmer and with a schedule pencilled in for Seasonal shopping I decide a short ride would be the best way to start. My bike is in need of a hose-down, but that can wait - the roads are grimy and wet - may as well add another layer of crap before attempting a clean up.
There's a clear coldness as I set off - the recent first touch of winter and the accompanying gale force storms seems to have resulted in a mighty herding up of leaves - there are drifts of them pushed up into corners and gathered along the verges like great ragged scraps of torn, rotting paper. The sky is rain washed and clear of cloud, pale blue and infinitely clear. And on the horizon, the trees stand out, spindly and looping, iron coloured but with branches like veins that display a lace like pattern.
In the distance there is a tractor moving across a field and smoke rising from a farmhouse chimney - it feels as though something is about to happen but nothing does. I ride past heading along lanes that are traffic free and silent. My fingers and toes are cold and now I'm into a headwind which stings my eyes and slows me almost to walking pace. I'm layered up but the wind cuts through and chills me. After a few miles the weather changes - the wind rises even more and rain begins to pour, relentlessly lashing me with stinging strokes that cut through my outerwear and find a way to my skin. The wind cries and moans as I reach half-way and turn to head for home. At least now I have a tail-wind and the riding is easier, but I'm cold...so cold.
This year has been the warmest on record - ever. And with that there is a tendency to dismiss the sensible practise of dressing appropriately - I see people wearing shorts every day. Shorts?... in December? As I edge my way closer to home I realise that I must dig out my winter gear. My tick gloves, thermal vest, winter overshoes, balaclava - they're all there buried in the bottom of a drawer somewhere and I would have been much more comfortable today had I taken the time to seek them out. Too late now though. A mile to go and it feels like 5 - the last push up a gentle rise to the crossroads and the main road is laughably tiresome - I feel like getting off and walking but resist the temptation. The rain has stopped now but the wind still pushes the temperatures down and I just haven't been able to get warm even with the effort.
I push the bike into the garage and head for a hot shower. Winter riding can be fun - but preparation and suitable clothing is key. Take heed.
There's a clear coldness as I set off - the recent first touch of winter and the accompanying gale force storms seems to have resulted in a mighty herding up of leaves - there are drifts of them pushed up into corners and gathered along the verges like great ragged scraps of torn, rotting paper. The sky is rain washed and clear of cloud, pale blue and infinitely clear. And on the horizon, the trees stand out, spindly and looping, iron coloured but with branches like veins that display a lace like pattern.
In the distance there is a tractor moving across a field and smoke rising from a farmhouse chimney - it feels as though something is about to happen but nothing does. I ride past heading along lanes that are traffic free and silent. My fingers and toes are cold and now I'm into a headwind which stings my eyes and slows me almost to walking pace. I'm layered up but the wind cuts through and chills me. After a few miles the weather changes - the wind rises even more and rain begins to pour, relentlessly lashing me with stinging strokes that cut through my outerwear and find a way to my skin. The wind cries and moans as I reach half-way and turn to head for home. At least now I have a tail-wind and the riding is easier, but I'm cold...so cold.
This year has been the warmest on record - ever. And with that there is a tendency to dismiss the sensible practise of dressing appropriately - I see people wearing shorts every day. Shorts?... in December? As I edge my way closer to home I realise that I must dig out my winter gear. My tick gloves, thermal vest, winter overshoes, balaclava - they're all there buried in the bottom of a drawer somewhere and I would have been much more comfortable today had I taken the time to seek them out. Too late now though. A mile to go and it feels like 5 - the last push up a gentle rise to the crossroads and the main road is laughably tiresome - I feel like getting off and walking but resist the temptation. The rain has stopped now but the wind still pushes the temperatures down and I just haven't been able to get warm even with the effort.
I push the bike into the garage and head for a hot shower. Winter riding can be fun - but preparation and suitable clothing is key. Take heed.
Monday, 8 December 2014
Cycle to work?
It's the time of year that reminds me that this island and its traditions are embedded so deeply in my soul that I can never leave - no matter what the mediterranean has to offer. Regardless of how much I could do without traffic jams or squabbling politicians or the X-factor, this time of year always leaves me with a warmth and a pride. I talk, of course, about the season of Winter Wonderlands.
In a cold, sodden field close to Birmingham, Laurence Llewelyn Bowen has launched his 'Magical Journey' I am reliably informed that, after closing on the day it opened, it is now open and in full festive swing. £100 will enable a smallish family to set off in search of a reindeer called Rudi, their experience enhanced by snow distributed from plastic bags and a skinny Santa straight from University. In Milton Keynes there is a similar set-up - except they closed on day 2 with Santa besieged by furious parents and two fathers having a scrap in the gingerbread house.
I have to declare an interest though - I am gainfully employed at my local Winter Wonderland - taking photographs of happy children and their gown-ups, sitting on Santa's sleigh with a reindeer by their side whilst waiting to enter the grotto and an audience with the big man in red. But I have to say - we do it well. I'd happily take my kids and when I see the faces of the children, many of whom are annual visitors, lit-up, wide-eyed in wonder and joy, and it makes me happy too.
I had a day off from proper work and took advantage of a bright clear morning to explore a route into Leicester City centre. I've been thinking of it for a while - but never managed to find time. My plan was simple, look up a rough guide on Google maps - then set off. In the car its about 16 miles door to door and takes anything between 30 minutes and an hour and a half. Google tells me it has a route that will get me there in just over 13 miles - using back roads and cycle-tracks. I set off, brimming with optimism.
The first 4 miles are tough - lots of uphill and I'm way out of practise. I pant up to Thornton taking full advantage of the granny-gear on my old bike. I dawdle through the village before another climb up from the reservoir, heading for the National Cycle Path route 63 to Ratby. I overtake three horse riders at the foot of the climb but hear their clip-clopping encroaching on me by the time I reach the top. The cycle path is quiet save for a couple of dog walkers. The sun is shining through dense trees spotlighting the path with patches of intense, white light. The surface of the trail is good, concrete and in places fresh looking tarmac - however there is a skin of mud and fallen leaves that renders the surface as treacherous as if an oil tanker had jettisoned its cargo upon it. I lose grip on every bend and slow to a crawl. I imagine the route in spring or summer though - with the trees in leaf and birds singing - I think it will be worth a try.
After getting muddled with directions through Ratby I find the next part of the route and head towards Glenfield, a muddy stretch recently used for filming a re-enactment of 'famous battles of World War One' - at least that's what it looked like - no chance of riding here - hop off and walk for half a mile avoiding any lone snipers. I pass a few industrial parks but its pleasant riding - no traffic to worry about. At Glenfield there is a mile or so of 'on-road' It's a busy stretch that involves a series of criss-crossing over a busy dual carriageway - but at least there are clearly marked cycle lanes and plenty of pelican crossings. Then its back onto the cycle route - a different number now - I think it was route 2 - although I might be mistaken. It's a nice surface, fairly flat and wide and for a while follows the river into the City Centre. I pop up just on the outskirts and into heavy three and four lane traffic - I cycle on the pavements into the centre proper - It's done I'm here - my milometer reads 14 miles - not bad and doable to get to work in the good weather 2 or 3 times a week - maybe.
I ride around the city streets for 10 minutes before heading back. I realise quite soon that the route has been more downhill or flat than anything else on the way in - now I'm having to work harder to keep moving. There are three or four steep rises on the way back - I calculate 15 maybe 18% - or is it just that my fitness is non-existent at the moment? - whatever, I need all the gears to make it to the top.
My final mileage is 29+ by the time I get home - Three times a week, that's getting on for 100 miles - a great way to get some miles in and build up the fitness next year. This could be an early resolution?
In a cold, sodden field close to Birmingham, Laurence Llewelyn Bowen has launched his 'Magical Journey' I am reliably informed that, after closing on the day it opened, it is now open and in full festive swing. £100 will enable a smallish family to set off in search of a reindeer called Rudi, their experience enhanced by snow distributed from plastic bags and a skinny Santa straight from University. In Milton Keynes there is a similar set-up - except they closed on day 2 with Santa besieged by furious parents and two fathers having a scrap in the gingerbread house.
I have to declare an interest though - I am gainfully employed at my local Winter Wonderland - taking photographs of happy children and their gown-ups, sitting on Santa's sleigh with a reindeer by their side whilst waiting to enter the grotto and an audience with the big man in red. But I have to say - we do it well. I'd happily take my kids and when I see the faces of the children, many of whom are annual visitors, lit-up, wide-eyed in wonder and joy, and it makes me happy too.
I had a day off from proper work and took advantage of a bright clear morning to explore a route into Leicester City centre. I've been thinking of it for a while - but never managed to find time. My plan was simple, look up a rough guide on Google maps - then set off. In the car its about 16 miles door to door and takes anything between 30 minutes and an hour and a half. Google tells me it has a route that will get me there in just over 13 miles - using back roads and cycle-tracks. I set off, brimming with optimism.
The first 4 miles are tough - lots of uphill and I'm way out of practise. I pant up to Thornton taking full advantage of the granny-gear on my old bike. I dawdle through the village before another climb up from the reservoir, heading for the National Cycle Path route 63 to Ratby. I overtake three horse riders at the foot of the climb but hear their clip-clopping encroaching on me by the time I reach the top. The cycle path is quiet save for a couple of dog walkers. The sun is shining through dense trees spotlighting the path with patches of intense, white light. The surface of the trail is good, concrete and in places fresh looking tarmac - however there is a skin of mud and fallen leaves that renders the surface as treacherous as if an oil tanker had jettisoned its cargo upon it. I lose grip on every bend and slow to a crawl. I imagine the route in spring or summer though - with the trees in leaf and birds singing - I think it will be worth a try.
After getting muddled with directions through Ratby I find the next part of the route and head towards Glenfield, a muddy stretch recently used for filming a re-enactment of 'famous battles of World War One' - at least that's what it looked like - no chance of riding here - hop off and walk for half a mile avoiding any lone snipers. I pass a few industrial parks but its pleasant riding - no traffic to worry about. At Glenfield there is a mile or so of 'on-road' It's a busy stretch that involves a series of criss-crossing over a busy dual carriageway - but at least there are clearly marked cycle lanes and plenty of pelican crossings. Then its back onto the cycle route - a different number now - I think it was route 2 - although I might be mistaken. It's a nice surface, fairly flat and wide and for a while follows the river into the City Centre. I pop up just on the outskirts and into heavy three and four lane traffic - I cycle on the pavements into the centre proper - It's done I'm here - my milometer reads 14 miles - not bad and doable to get to work in the good weather 2 or 3 times a week - maybe.
I ride around the city streets for 10 minutes before heading back. I realise quite soon that the route has been more downhill or flat than anything else on the way in - now I'm having to work harder to keep moving. There are three or four steep rises on the way back - I calculate 15 maybe 18% - or is it just that my fitness is non-existent at the moment? - whatever, I need all the gears to make it to the top.
My final mileage is 29+ by the time I get home - Three times a week, that's getting on for 100 miles - a great way to get some miles in and build up the fitness next year. This could be an early resolution?
Monday, 10 November 2014
The heart of Autumn....
Hello.... it's been awhile.
I've been contemplating, as the year moves ever closer to its end, on what a thoroughly pleasant one it has been. Take away the biblical floods at the start and I think we've enjoyed favourable conditions; rather more than we do normally. The fact that I was recently stung by a wasp (second time this year) probably tells us more about the weather in the UK this autumn. It is mild, following the conditions that have prevailed pretty much the whole year through - higher than average temperatures so that summer and autumn have fused, imperceptibly, into each other. A humid September and the mild wonder of a too-soft October has left my log pile intact and the central heating switch unmoved since February. Autumn is slow to arrive this year, and being behind schedule it is likely we can expect a lengthy stay - quite possibly into December.
Out on the bike last week I looked at the trees - some look to be summered with leaf while others are stripped bare, some have turned colours and others have held fast. It is a difficult year to make the mark between seasons. So far there has been just one frost sufficient to demand determined effort with the windscreen scraper - and that's another sign that we're more or less wallowing at the moment.
My two main bikes are in need of some TLC and I am currently therefore riding my old mountain bike. It's steel and heavy but surprisingly comfortable and given that I'm not bothered about speed right now, it makes for an enjoyable steed. I made my way, gently, through the lanes gazing up at the quiet sky. It is grey, smeared and smudged like a child's finger painting, with dark, feather-edged veins of inky violet adding a dramatic focus. The distant trees have the look of copper with flecks of orange and sometimes crimson. As the year distills itself towards its close there is a manifesting softness to the land and all that lies in or on it. I hear the piercing sound of a hunting horn and the howl of dogs as I move slowly but steadily uphill. I pause on a bridge to look along the canal lying underneath. There is a hazy mist hanging over the water and as I watch a couple of coots darting too and fro a narrowboat edges into the distant scene, cutting slowly through the moist air and seemingly floating on a cloud. The pilot is a lady who spots me as she passes under the bridge and shouts up a greeting. There is a canal-side cafe 50 yards away and i imagine she will be mooring up for breakfast.
I continue my route as the sun manages to pierce the greyness with spears of white. Immediately I can feel the warmth and my legs seem revitalised so that the hill up to Daddlington is conquered in a flash. As I enjoy the freewheel on the other side I spot a couple foraging on the roadside, gathering up some fruit of the earth that remains unknown to me, sloes perhaps? or mushrooms? I pass through Stoke Golding and wind my way to Shenton and from there back to Market Bosworth. It occurs to me that we talk of the 'height' of summer or the 'dead' of winter - but what of autumn? The 'heart' perhaps - the core of fruitfulness and decline that has within it the sweet dregs of the year.
I've been contemplating, as the year moves ever closer to its end, on what a thoroughly pleasant one it has been. Take away the biblical floods at the start and I think we've enjoyed favourable conditions; rather more than we do normally. The fact that I was recently stung by a wasp (second time this year) probably tells us more about the weather in the UK this autumn. It is mild, following the conditions that have prevailed pretty much the whole year through - higher than average temperatures so that summer and autumn have fused, imperceptibly, into each other. A humid September and the mild wonder of a too-soft October has left my log pile intact and the central heating switch unmoved since February. Autumn is slow to arrive this year, and being behind schedule it is likely we can expect a lengthy stay - quite possibly into December.
Out on the bike last week I looked at the trees - some look to be summered with leaf while others are stripped bare, some have turned colours and others have held fast. It is a difficult year to make the mark between seasons. So far there has been just one frost sufficient to demand determined effort with the windscreen scraper - and that's another sign that we're more or less wallowing at the moment.
My two main bikes are in need of some TLC and I am currently therefore riding my old mountain bike. It's steel and heavy but surprisingly comfortable and given that I'm not bothered about speed right now, it makes for an enjoyable steed. I made my way, gently, through the lanes gazing up at the quiet sky. It is grey, smeared and smudged like a child's finger painting, with dark, feather-edged veins of inky violet adding a dramatic focus. The distant trees have the look of copper with flecks of orange and sometimes crimson. As the year distills itself towards its close there is a manifesting softness to the land and all that lies in or on it. I hear the piercing sound of a hunting horn and the howl of dogs as I move slowly but steadily uphill. I pause on a bridge to look along the canal lying underneath. There is a hazy mist hanging over the water and as I watch a couple of coots darting too and fro a narrowboat edges into the distant scene, cutting slowly through the moist air and seemingly floating on a cloud. The pilot is a lady who spots me as she passes under the bridge and shouts up a greeting. There is a canal-side cafe 50 yards away and i imagine she will be mooring up for breakfast.
I continue my route as the sun manages to pierce the greyness with spears of white. Immediately I can feel the warmth and my legs seem revitalised so that the hill up to Daddlington is conquered in a flash. As I enjoy the freewheel on the other side I spot a couple foraging on the roadside, gathering up some fruit of the earth that remains unknown to me, sloes perhaps? or mushrooms? I pass through Stoke Golding and wind my way to Shenton and from there back to Market Bosworth. It occurs to me that we talk of the 'height' of summer or the 'dead' of winter - but what of autumn? The 'heart' perhaps - the core of fruitfulness and decline that has within it the sweet dregs of the year.
Tuesday, 30 September 2014
Cycling Show - NEC, Birmingham....
According to the advertising blurb, this year's Cycle Show at the NEC was the biggest yet - it has expanded into a new hall and every inch of the floor plan is full. That may well be - but I have to admit we didn't notice - I've just read that since getting back home! However we did notice how many bike companies there seem to be all of a sudden - take out the established brands, Specialised, Giant, Cannondale etc - who for some reason weren't displaying and there seems a plethora of 'new brands' - Rocky Mountain, Electra, Beacon, Marin, Mondraker, Marzochi, Greenover, Haibike, KTM, Reece, Silverfish, Storch, Valke, Aguesport, Dassi, Kinesis, Reid, Starley, Yellow - and probably more.... Good to see that the industry is thriving and new companies are springing up.
We went through the usual ritual - a bucket list based on an imaginary lottery win. £25,000 was the figure we had to spend - and with Bradley Wiggins World Championship Time trial bike available from Pinnarello for £14,000 it was clear we needed to adjust the figures - £35,000 would be reasonable - even then there would have to be some difficult compromises!
All in all its an enjoyable way to spend a few hours accumulating a bag full of leaflets, magazines and brochures to pad out the recycling bin sometime next week. But it was good to spot Jens Voight doing his bit on the Trek stand and no doubt basking in the deserved glory of the new world record holder for 'the hour'.
See you all next year.
 |
| Bradley Wiggins's Time Trial Bike |
All in all its an enjoyable way to spend a few hours accumulating a bag full of leaflets, magazines and brochures to pad out the recycling bin sometime next week. But it was good to spot Jens Voight doing his bit on the Trek stand and no doubt basking in the deserved glory of the new world record holder for 'the hour'.
See you all next year.
Monday, 29 September 2014
Suffolk .... on the old bike
The blonde and I spent a few days away. Starting with a visit to Cambridge and a pleasant walk around the city centre culminating in an excellent refreshment break at "The Pint Shop'. The hotel we stayed at was, sadly, disgraceful - we left early the following morning deciding that breakfast was too risky.
Our ultimate destination was the Suffolk coast around Southwold - a place that warrants repeated visits. We had booked a couple of nights at The Bell in Walberswick - a proper old pub with good rooms and reasonable food and beer. I'd decided to bring along my old bike - I mean my really old bike - I haven't ridden it for a couple of years probably and I had to spend half an hour working to free the front brake which had rusted up. That done, some air in the tyres and we were good to go - The blonde was riding her old sit-up-and-beg Raleigh - ideal for Suffolk with a basket on the front to carry wine from the Adnams shop!
Once again the mild weather was a delight - and made for easy spinning through the village up towards the church and then following the bridle path down to the river, across the bridge to the harbour and up the road past the golf course and the water tower and into Southwold. My old bike felt really good, comfortable and totally all that was needed. I had a back pannier on the rack so that I could carry any purchases and spending the day under our own steam was rewarding.
On the morning of our last day I popped out for a ride before breakfast - the same route through to the seaside at Southwold but a little quicker than the pooling we did the day before. I've a feeling to ride my old bike more - I've really enjoyed it - even though its heavy and cumbersome, it feels smooth an comfortable - the gears are mountain bike ratios - so uphills are relatively easy even though progress is slow. I wonder as I ride back for breakfast - maybe I should think more about a touring set up - an old steel bike with panniers, not so much speed orientated - more about pleasure, comfort and distance - perhaps not going the whole-hog with tents and cooking equipment - but certainly a week touring round utilising b&bs and pubs would seem like a reasonable challenge?
Mmmmm - maybe I'll look into that a bit more - more details to follow!
Our ultimate destination was the Suffolk coast around Southwold - a place that warrants repeated visits. We had booked a couple of nights at The Bell in Walberswick - a proper old pub with good rooms and reasonable food and beer. I'd decided to bring along my old bike - I mean my really old bike - I haven't ridden it for a couple of years probably and I had to spend half an hour working to free the front brake which had rusted up. That done, some air in the tyres and we were good to go - The blonde was riding her old sit-up-and-beg Raleigh - ideal for Suffolk with a basket on the front to carry wine from the Adnams shop!
Once again the mild weather was a delight - and made for easy spinning through the village up towards the church and then following the bridle path down to the river, across the bridge to the harbour and up the road past the golf course and the water tower and into Southwold. My old bike felt really good, comfortable and totally all that was needed. I had a back pannier on the rack so that I could carry any purchases and spending the day under our own steam was rewarding.
Mmmmm - maybe I'll look into that a bit more - more details to follow!
Sunday, 28 September 2014
Congrats to Bradley Wiggins - World Champion.....
Sir Bradley Wiggins has produced one of the best performances of his career to claim the World Time Trial Gold medal at the world cycling championships in Spain earlier this week.
Wiggins' performance, which saw him beat his great rival, the triple world champion Tony Martin, by 26sec over a 47.1km course, means the 2012 Tour de France winner becomes the first man to win the Tour as well as Olympic and world titles on both track and road.
Bradley is only the second Briton ever to claim a world time trial gold, Chris Boardman was the first back in 1994. He went into the event as second favourite behind Tony Martin who was looking for a fourth consecutive world title and had previously beaten Bradley into second place in 2011 and 2013.
Bradley was well pleased with the result especially as this season hasn't been a good one by his standards. He is now looking forward to an attempt at victory in Paris-Roubaix next year, as well as a crack at the Hour record whilst building up for his career swansong on the track at the 2016 olympics.
Saturday, 27 September 2014
Tour de Leicestershire....
So, our last big ride of the year, Gary was at my house by 7.00am and after a few final checks we set off to ride to the start point at Desford - around 5 miles, just right to get warmed up. The weather was mild and the forecast for the day indicated perfect conditions - not too hot and no rain to hinder us.
This is the inaugural 'Tour de Leicestershire' ride - organised to raise funds for the 'Open Hands' charity. It's a 100km circular route around Leicestershire avoiding main roads and ending back in Desford with a celebratory cream tea.
We arrived at the start point by about 7.30am - we were due to set off at 8.00am so plenty of time to register and pick up the route map and our official badges to tie onto our bikes. There were already plenty of riders around, rows of parked cars with bikes leaning against them and people in various stages of undress as they prepared themselves for the off. Gary and I were riding with two others from the London to Paris ride we did last year - Dave and Mike - they both arrived in good time and soon we were ready and itching to set off. There's always a slight apprehension with these events, a nervousness that manifests itself in an urgent need for toilet facilities - the wooded area next to the car park offered a suitable solution.
We set off amongst the first group and contented ourselves with following everyone else, alleviating the need to pay much attention to the route map. Pretty soon though we were in the front, our pace being slightly higher than the rest meant that attention to the lampost direction indicators needed to be a little more focussed.
The first 10 miles or so were comfortable riding, mostly flat, smooth roads through quiet lanes with fields of stubble and a few pheasants along the woodsides. The trees are thinning slightly and the light is coming through; there is a casual soundless spinning down of the first leaves as we make our way through villages I've never seen or heard of: Croft, Cosby, Willoughby, Peatling Magna, Arnesby, Saddington, Smeeton Westerby - each beautiful, welcoming and shocking in the sense that, for me at least, their existence has until now been unknown. I decide there and then to make a trip out and investigate further, visit some of the inviting hostelries and wander around the empty lanes and churchyards.
We are moving at a decent pace and, for the time being at least, have left everyone else behind. Our first scheduled stop is Kibworth Church, we stop for a free flapjack and the chance to top up our bottles. Pretty soon other riders start to arrive - some stop but only briefly, others continue on with just a hand wave. We're in no particular rush, we take our time before setting off again at a gentle pace heading now for Tur Langton and on to Stonton Wyville, Cranoe and Hallaton. I'm amazed further by these village outposts, somehow timeless and unspoilt - thatched cottages, village greens, small pubs and post offices - awaking from a coma I would suspect I had been dropped into the heart of the Cotswolds.
Through Allexton, Belton in Rutland, Loddington and then our lunch stop at Launde Abbey - a National Trust like setting with gazebos erected and sandwiches and cakes for the riders. It's a welcome stop - the last few miles have been decidedly lumpy - some severe but thankfully short inclines have tested us. Dave decides he's not feeling too good and struggling a little with the hills - he tells us to carry on and he'll see us at the end. Off we go again - about 35 miles left to ride - but the hardest climbs are all to come. More quintessential villages come and pass; Owston, Somerby, Pickwell, Little Dalby, Great Dalby, Frisby, Hoby, Thrussington, Cossington.... each a blissful and elegant collection of picture-postcard rural cottages, surrounded by a vale of gentle farmland.
We make a final stop at Rothley - more town than village. We gather at the church for more flapjacks and a rest from our saddles. There is a wedding taking place, and a collection of 1960s scooters seems to make up a vague guard of honour for the bride and groom who, we assume, have some sort of 'mod' connection. There is a gimpy collection of characters hanging round dressed in shiny suits and italian loafers, the wedding car is a 60s Jag - take off the white bunting from the bonnet and it would have been ready for an episode of The Sweeney.
The last few miles are the toughest - some long, steep climbs around Bradgate Park and through Markfield - we're tired now but manage to stay on the bikes and claw our way round - there are quite a few walkers by now, but also plenty who are overtaking us. As we roll across the finish line we are greeted with a round of applause from others who have finished ahead. We join the crowd to greet those finishing behind us - Dave arrives after about 20 minutes - he looks shattered but he's made it.
It was a great route - tough in parts - but made memorable by the gentle weather, the varied scenery and outstanding organisation. He's hoping we can do it again next year!.
This is the inaugural 'Tour de Leicestershire' ride - organised to raise funds for the 'Open Hands' charity. It's a 100km circular route around Leicestershire avoiding main roads and ending back in Desford with a celebratory cream tea.
We arrived at the start point by about 7.30am - we were due to set off at 8.00am so plenty of time to register and pick up the route map and our official badges to tie onto our bikes. There were already plenty of riders around, rows of parked cars with bikes leaning against them and people in various stages of undress as they prepared themselves for the off. Gary and I were riding with two others from the London to Paris ride we did last year - Dave and Mike - they both arrived in good time and soon we were ready and itching to set off. There's always a slight apprehension with these events, a nervousness that manifests itself in an urgent need for toilet facilities - the wooded area next to the car park offered a suitable solution.
We set off amongst the first group and contented ourselves with following everyone else, alleviating the need to pay much attention to the route map. Pretty soon though we were in the front, our pace being slightly higher than the rest meant that attention to the lampost direction indicators needed to be a little more focussed.
The first 10 miles or so were comfortable riding, mostly flat, smooth roads through quiet lanes with fields of stubble and a few pheasants along the woodsides. The trees are thinning slightly and the light is coming through; there is a casual soundless spinning down of the first leaves as we make our way through villages I've never seen or heard of: Croft, Cosby, Willoughby, Peatling Magna, Arnesby, Saddington, Smeeton Westerby - each beautiful, welcoming and shocking in the sense that, for me at least, their existence has until now been unknown. I decide there and then to make a trip out and investigate further, visit some of the inviting hostelries and wander around the empty lanes and churchyards.
We are moving at a decent pace and, for the time being at least, have left everyone else behind. Our first scheduled stop is Kibworth Church, we stop for a free flapjack and the chance to top up our bottles. Pretty soon other riders start to arrive - some stop but only briefly, others continue on with just a hand wave. We're in no particular rush, we take our time before setting off again at a gentle pace heading now for Tur Langton and on to Stonton Wyville, Cranoe and Hallaton. I'm amazed further by these village outposts, somehow timeless and unspoilt - thatched cottages, village greens, small pubs and post offices - awaking from a coma I would suspect I had been dropped into the heart of the Cotswolds.
Through Allexton, Belton in Rutland, Loddington and then our lunch stop at Launde Abbey - a National Trust like setting with gazebos erected and sandwiches and cakes for the riders. It's a welcome stop - the last few miles have been decidedly lumpy - some severe but thankfully short inclines have tested us. Dave decides he's not feeling too good and struggling a little with the hills - he tells us to carry on and he'll see us at the end. Off we go again - about 35 miles left to ride - but the hardest climbs are all to come. More quintessential villages come and pass; Owston, Somerby, Pickwell, Little Dalby, Great Dalby, Frisby, Hoby, Thrussington, Cossington.... each a blissful and elegant collection of picture-postcard rural cottages, surrounded by a vale of gentle farmland.
We make a final stop at Rothley - more town than village. We gather at the church for more flapjacks and a rest from our saddles. There is a wedding taking place, and a collection of 1960s scooters seems to make up a vague guard of honour for the bride and groom who, we assume, have some sort of 'mod' connection. There is a gimpy collection of characters hanging round dressed in shiny suits and italian loafers, the wedding car is a 60s Jag - take off the white bunting from the bonnet and it would have been ready for an episode of The Sweeney.
The last few miles are the toughest - some long, steep climbs around Bradgate Park and through Markfield - we're tired now but manage to stay on the bikes and claw our way round - there are quite a few walkers by now, but also plenty who are overtaking us. As we roll across the finish line we are greeted with a round of applause from others who have finished ahead. We join the crowd to greet those finishing behind us - Dave arrives after about 20 minutes - he looks shattered but he's made it.
It was a great route - tough in parts - but made memorable by the gentle weather, the varied scenery and outstanding organisation. He's hoping we can do it again next year!.
Thursday, 11 September 2014
Great performance from Matt Botrill....
Matt Bottrill is a cyclist known mainly to local riders up here in Leicestershire as the 'cycling postman' - he lives in a village not far from me. He actually delivers the post by bike and you might think he gets in plenty of miles doing that - not so. He actually covers about 8 -10 miles per day. On top of that he can only find time to train for about 10 hours a week. Whatever he's doing though has certainly paid off for him this year.
He has won the National 10,25 and 50 mile time trials and now he has broken the competition record for riding 25 miles - he clocked 45minutes 43seconds at Port Talbot to set the new official record. He was quickest by over a minute beating former champion Michael Hutchinson into second place.
That's some achievement - anyone who cycles regularly knows how unbelievable this effort appears. That's an average speed over 25 miles of 32.18mph - Its questionable whether I could do that in my car? Top speed during the ride was 53mph. This tops off an amazing season for Matt - National champion over 10, 25 and 50 miles - and having already broken the record for 50 miles as well!
Top Class.
He has won the National 10,25 and 50 mile time trials and now he has broken the competition record for riding 25 miles - he clocked 45minutes 43seconds at Port Talbot to set the new official record. He was quickest by over a minute beating former champion Michael Hutchinson into second place.
That's some achievement - anyone who cycles regularly knows how unbelievable this effort appears. That's an average speed over 25 miles of 32.18mph - Its questionable whether I could do that in my car? Top speed during the ride was 53mph. This tops off an amazing season for Matt - National champion over 10, 25 and 50 miles - and having already broken the record for 50 miles as well!
Top Class.
Monday, 8 September 2014
Summer comes to an end - death is everywhere....
I heard it on the radio. Summer is officially over. As I look around I know what they mean - there is change; the light is different, more fragile and softer. Leaves are turning, shifting hues, there is an autumnal whiff in the air.
Despite this the weather remains good, no real rain to report and a late, warm blast has encouraged many mamils to delay hibernation. I've been out for a number of longish rides since my last distant post, the furthest being 75 miles. Gary and I have one last 'organised' event to ride next week - the inaugural 'Tour de Leicestershire' - 100km along quiet leafy lanes and field roads. The field roads bit could be anything - and we remain sceptical.
Yesterday we rode 50+ miles around quiet leafy lanes - no field roads - and we managed to get lost in the back streets of Desford. Other than that it was a pleasant Sunday morning jaunt, lots of cyclists around and the warm sun keeping us company all the way.
A week or so ago I rode a big loop to incorporate a visit to my mum. As I rode through Measham heading along the road towards Oakthorpe I couldn't help notice the roadkill - It was a case of more or less constant adjustment to avoid the bodies strewn along the gutter. Lots of rats, a fair few squirrels, rabbits, pheasants, a badger or two, even a cat. Any wildlife looking to relocate should avoid this postcode - definitely a danger of death.
My bikes need attention and I've been planning a course of action that will see my best bike cleaned, polished, serviced and mothballed for the winter. My older machine needs quite a bit of work - including (I think) new headset bearings - this is a job never tackled before so I may take it to my local bike shop for some expert attention. As the nights grow shorter and the temperature drops riding will inevitably fall away too - but we've had a decent year - already we've been discussing ideas for 2015 - no firm decisions yet, but I'll let you know!
Despite this the weather remains good, no real rain to report and a late, warm blast has encouraged many mamils to delay hibernation. I've been out for a number of longish rides since my last distant post, the furthest being 75 miles. Gary and I have one last 'organised' event to ride next week - the inaugural 'Tour de Leicestershire' - 100km along quiet leafy lanes and field roads. The field roads bit could be anything - and we remain sceptical.
Yesterday we rode 50+ miles around quiet leafy lanes - no field roads - and we managed to get lost in the back streets of Desford. Other than that it was a pleasant Sunday morning jaunt, lots of cyclists around and the warm sun keeping us company all the way.
A week or so ago I rode a big loop to incorporate a visit to my mum. As I rode through Measham heading along the road towards Oakthorpe I couldn't help notice the roadkill - It was a case of more or less constant adjustment to avoid the bodies strewn along the gutter. Lots of rats, a fair few squirrels, rabbits, pheasants, a badger or two, even a cat. Any wildlife looking to relocate should avoid this postcode - definitely a danger of death.
My bikes need attention and I've been planning a course of action that will see my best bike cleaned, polished, serviced and mothballed for the winter. My older machine needs quite a bit of work - including (I think) new headset bearings - this is a job never tackled before so I may take it to my local bike shop for some expert attention. As the nights grow shorter and the temperature drops riding will inevitably fall away too - but we've had a decent year - already we've been discussing ideas for 2015 - no firm decisions yet, but I'll let you know!
Tuesday, 19 August 2014
Prudential Ride London 2014
So, after a final flurry of 100 mile training rides we set off for London on Saturday morning, apprehensive about the weather prospects but excited by the idea of riding with thousands of others on closed roads around London and Surrey.
Our first port of call was The Excel Centre to register and pick up our itinerary for the ride. This was a relatively painless process, despite the crowds, we were in and out within 15 minutes having picked up our ride numbers and goody bags.
We were staying at the Premier Inn, Ilford - ideal for what we needed, comfortable room and a handy bar/restaurant right next door. After checking in and taking our bikes and other stuff into the room we retired to the bar for a relaxing drink and a bite to eat. After that Gary and I drove up to the Olympic Park to check out where we needed to be the following morning. Our target was the Olympic sculpture - a tangled mess of iron that looked like the left-overs from a theme park ride. Once there and whilst driving back, we decided that the easiest option for next morning was to ride our bikes from the hotel to the start point, not a massive journey and would save the girls the effort of having to get up to ferry us - besides, it was only about 6 miles.
In the evening we were joined by the blonde's friends, Janet and Paul who live in Romford - we had an enjoyable meal and Gary and I managed to keep off the alcohol! - then it was an early night ready for an even earlier start in the morning.
I was awake at 4.00am - the room was hot and humid. I got up and made some porridge and ate a croissant. I lay on the bed for around an hour unable to get back to sleep and finally decided to get up and get ready. I was out in the street at 5.15am riding the bike around the block, just to make sure everything was in order. Gary emerged at 5.50 and we were off. The main roads approaching the Olympic Park were all closed to ordinary traffic, riding along the dual carriageway was a bizarre and somewhat surreal experience. As we approached the Park we paused outside the Olympic Velodrome (the pringle) for a photo. Then, as we followed the signs and weaved our way through roads jammed with cyclists our first problem occurred - Gary had a puncture. This elicited a state of mild panic, Gary fumbling to get a new tube onto his wheel and all the time the clock ticking... he made it and we split up at that point. I didn't know it at the time but that was the last I'd see of him before we met up outside Buckingham Palace at the end.
Gary was starting half an hour before me, so I had to hang around. The gate to my 'wave' wasn't even in place. I found a flight of steps leading down to a canal and sat there playing a game on my phone. At 7.15 my gate was opened and I pushed my bike into line with around two hundred other riders. Still we had 50 minutes to wait until our allotted start time. There was a man next to me in the queue, older than me, probably mid sixties, he lived in France close to Alpe d'Huez, he said the mountain was his training ride, but that he wasn't really a cyclist, he was a runner, but his body had started to fall apart with all the impact of running so he'd moved to cycling instead. Then there was a woman in a pink waterproof - again, 60s, up from Birmingham to do the ride, her husband had challenged her when she bought her bike about a year ago - and here she was, hubby had dropped her off that morning, they'd set off from Birmingham at 2.00am.
It started raining at around 7.45, just a gentle trickle, but after ten minutes I decided to pull on the waterproof. we'd been standing around for over half an hour, people were rocking from foot to foot, stretching, generally looking restless. A few were taking the chance to eat, stocking up on calories for the miles ahead. Suddenly we started moving forward, the start line came into view, the countdown began, we were off.
We made our way steadily through the wet streets, just our wave at the moment, we would converge with everyone else after a mile or two and make our way through central London, The Tower, Trafalgar Square, Kensington, The London Eye, we passed many of 'the sights' on empty, traffic free roads. By now the various 'waves' had joined up into one continuous snake, filling the width of the roads and heading out through Chiswick towards East Sheen and Richmond Park.
The rain continued to fall and the roads proved slippery, I saw many riders skid off and crash and also many, many punctures - every few yards there was someone at the roadside wrestling with a bike wheel and inner tube. At Richmond Park we came to an abrupt halt. There was a long hill and a narrow road to the top, but no movement. The entire peloton ground to a halt with everyone craning to see what the hold up was. As we all stood around the rain increased in ferocity - this was a proper storm now, soaking. Up ahead was the sound of sirens and the sight of flashing warning lights - there had been a serious accident and we had to wait for the emergency services to do their stuff. All told we were standing around for half an hour, no cover at all and soaked just as though we had taken a bath. Finally we were allowed to walk slowly to the junction where the accident had happened, clear now but the rain had created a lake, there was water gushing into it from a breached drain, 'Bloody hell, I didn't realise it was a Triathlon' said someone.
Gradually the gathered mass set off again and fell into a natural order. Up ahead I saw the first water stop and pulled over hoping to find Gary - no sign of him. I tried calling on the mobile but no answer. I guessed he had carried on. I grabbed a banana and set off again heading through Walton on Thames and Byfleet and then to Ripley. Then I felt the dreaded wobble in my back wheel - a puncture.
I pulled over and set about the process of removing the wheel, releasing the tyre from the rim, extracting the punctured tube and replacing it with a spare - all hindered by the constant soaking rain, hands slippery wet, rain running into my face, fingers offering no grip on tricky screws and tyre levers, and all the time thousands of riders getting ahead of me. Finally I'm confident it's done, I get enough pressure into the tyre and set off again, a steady upward climb now and I seem to be flying along, passing so many who seem to be almost stationery. On through West Horsley and towards Newlands Corner the first serious climb of the day - this sorts people out. The left hand side of the road is filled with people off their bikes and walking - to be fair it is steep in places and I need all my gears to creep to the top. A seriously scary descent in the rain and another collection of punctured cyclists along the edges and we're heading now to Forest Green - then I get puncture number 2. Unbelievable - I've ridden thousands of miles in the past 12 months without a single puncture - now two in an hour. The snag here is that I don't have another spare tube. I stand at the roadside just looking at the bike and wondering what to do. At least the rain has stopped and there is a hint of sunshine. I know that there are support vehicles making constant loops of the circuit - I just need to wait.
After about 20 minutes a van pulls over on the other side of the road, the man shouts across to me and I tell him my predicament - he can't get the van across the constant stream of riders and so he simply tosses a spare tube across to me - no charge! - great service. 10 minutes later and I'm away again. 10 minutes after that I get puncture number 3 - front wheel this time so easier to sort out - but no tube. I stand around again with the bike in bits and keep an eye out for the van. Then a women comes across to me from one of the houses on the other side of the road - she asks if I'm okay - I share my bad luck - "I might be able to help" she says and dissapears back to her house. Seconds later she returns with a spare tube - "I don't know if this will help" she says "Another cyclist left it earlier, it didn't fit his bike" - I looked at the tube - a perfect replacement for my needs. I thanked her and got to work. She told me that the route had been changed. Due to the bad weather there had been a landslide somewhere up ahead and the organisers had decided to alter the route - there would be no climb of the dreaded Leith Hill or Box Hill following it. I set off again following the directions and heading to Leatherhead. All of the villages and towns we passed through gave us a rousing welcome - despite the weather there was a good turn out and people clapped and cheered as we passed. By now my phone had given up totally, possibly the rain had caused a short circuit, no way to contact Gary - or anyone else - Now the rain had started again, another torrential, biblical outburst. I'm sure I saw Noah standing amongst the crowd as we passed through Kingston on Thames and the final section through to Wimbledon, Putney and back into central London. Still there were loads of people struggling with punctures, I prayed I'd make it to the finish without another incident and thankfully I managed it. Along the Mall and over the finish line with Buckingham Palace as the backdrop and crowds cheering. Fantastic.
It's a pity the weather was so bad but overall it was still a most enjoyable experience. Riding on closed roads in a big group was something I hadn't done before. It has to be said that this event is fastidiously organised - I have no idea how many marshalls were involved but it must have been thousands. A big thanks too to Kate and Val for all there support with the logistics. Chapeau. And see you all next year.
Our first port of call was The Excel Centre to register and pick up our itinerary for the ride. This was a relatively painless process, despite the crowds, we were in and out within 15 minutes having picked up our ride numbers and goody bags.
We were staying at the Premier Inn, Ilford - ideal for what we needed, comfortable room and a handy bar/restaurant right next door. After checking in and taking our bikes and other stuff into the room we retired to the bar for a relaxing drink and a bite to eat. After that Gary and I drove up to the Olympic Park to check out where we needed to be the following morning. Our target was the Olympic sculpture - a tangled mess of iron that looked like the left-overs from a theme park ride. Once there and whilst driving back, we decided that the easiest option for next morning was to ride our bikes from the hotel to the start point, not a massive journey and would save the girls the effort of having to get up to ferry us - besides, it was only about 6 miles.
In the evening we were joined by the blonde's friends, Janet and Paul who live in Romford - we had an enjoyable meal and Gary and I managed to keep off the alcohol! - then it was an early night ready for an even earlier start in the morning.
I was awake at 4.00am - the room was hot and humid. I got up and made some porridge and ate a croissant. I lay on the bed for around an hour unable to get back to sleep and finally decided to get up and get ready. I was out in the street at 5.15am riding the bike around the block, just to make sure everything was in order. Gary emerged at 5.50 and we were off. The main roads approaching the Olympic Park were all closed to ordinary traffic, riding along the dual carriageway was a bizarre and somewhat surreal experience. As we approached the Park we paused outside the Olympic Velodrome (the pringle) for a photo. Then, as we followed the signs and weaved our way through roads jammed with cyclists our first problem occurred - Gary had a puncture. This elicited a state of mild panic, Gary fumbling to get a new tube onto his wheel and all the time the clock ticking... he made it and we split up at that point. I didn't know it at the time but that was the last I'd see of him before we met up outside Buckingham Palace at the end.
Gary was starting half an hour before me, so I had to hang around. The gate to my 'wave' wasn't even in place. I found a flight of steps leading down to a canal and sat there playing a game on my phone. At 7.15 my gate was opened and I pushed my bike into line with around two hundred other riders. Still we had 50 minutes to wait until our allotted start time. There was a man next to me in the queue, older than me, probably mid sixties, he lived in France close to Alpe d'Huez, he said the mountain was his training ride, but that he wasn't really a cyclist, he was a runner, but his body had started to fall apart with all the impact of running so he'd moved to cycling instead. Then there was a woman in a pink waterproof - again, 60s, up from Birmingham to do the ride, her husband had challenged her when she bought her bike about a year ago - and here she was, hubby had dropped her off that morning, they'd set off from Birmingham at 2.00am.
It started raining at around 7.45, just a gentle trickle, but after ten minutes I decided to pull on the waterproof. we'd been standing around for over half an hour, people were rocking from foot to foot, stretching, generally looking restless. A few were taking the chance to eat, stocking up on calories for the miles ahead. Suddenly we started moving forward, the start line came into view, the countdown began, we were off.
We made our way steadily through the wet streets, just our wave at the moment, we would converge with everyone else after a mile or two and make our way through central London, The Tower, Trafalgar Square, Kensington, The London Eye, we passed many of 'the sights' on empty, traffic free roads. By now the various 'waves' had joined up into one continuous snake, filling the width of the roads and heading out through Chiswick towards East Sheen and Richmond Park.
The rain continued to fall and the roads proved slippery, I saw many riders skid off and crash and also many, many punctures - every few yards there was someone at the roadside wrestling with a bike wheel and inner tube. At Richmond Park we came to an abrupt halt. There was a long hill and a narrow road to the top, but no movement. The entire peloton ground to a halt with everyone craning to see what the hold up was. As we all stood around the rain increased in ferocity - this was a proper storm now, soaking. Up ahead was the sound of sirens and the sight of flashing warning lights - there had been a serious accident and we had to wait for the emergency services to do their stuff. All told we were standing around for half an hour, no cover at all and soaked just as though we had taken a bath. Finally we were allowed to walk slowly to the junction where the accident had happened, clear now but the rain had created a lake, there was water gushing into it from a breached drain, 'Bloody hell, I didn't realise it was a Triathlon' said someone.
Gradually the gathered mass set off again and fell into a natural order. Up ahead I saw the first water stop and pulled over hoping to find Gary - no sign of him. I tried calling on the mobile but no answer. I guessed he had carried on. I grabbed a banana and set off again heading through Walton on Thames and Byfleet and then to Ripley. Then I felt the dreaded wobble in my back wheel - a puncture.
I pulled over and set about the process of removing the wheel, releasing the tyre from the rim, extracting the punctured tube and replacing it with a spare - all hindered by the constant soaking rain, hands slippery wet, rain running into my face, fingers offering no grip on tricky screws and tyre levers, and all the time thousands of riders getting ahead of me. Finally I'm confident it's done, I get enough pressure into the tyre and set off again, a steady upward climb now and I seem to be flying along, passing so many who seem to be almost stationery. On through West Horsley and towards Newlands Corner the first serious climb of the day - this sorts people out. The left hand side of the road is filled with people off their bikes and walking - to be fair it is steep in places and I need all my gears to creep to the top. A seriously scary descent in the rain and another collection of punctured cyclists along the edges and we're heading now to Forest Green - then I get puncture number 2. Unbelievable - I've ridden thousands of miles in the past 12 months without a single puncture - now two in an hour. The snag here is that I don't have another spare tube. I stand at the roadside just looking at the bike and wondering what to do. At least the rain has stopped and there is a hint of sunshine. I know that there are support vehicles making constant loops of the circuit - I just need to wait.
 |
| It's done - Outside Buck Palace - Finishers medals on display! |
It's a pity the weather was so bad but overall it was still a most enjoyable experience. Riding on closed roads in a big group was something I hadn't done before. It has to be said that this event is fastidiously organised - I have no idea how many marshalls were involved but it must have been thousands. A big thanks too to Kate and Val for all there support with the logistics. Chapeau. And see you all next year.
Sunday, 13 July 2014
Foremark Sportive....and the dreaded Bonk!
We'd enrolled onto a Sportive event organised by British Cycling, a 58km route around Derbyshire and the National forest. The description said it was an easy ride, gentle through beautiful countryside - it sounded ideal. I decided to ride from home, meeting Gaz just outside Ashby and riding up through Ticknall to the start point at Foremark Reservoir. This entailed an early start and a 20 mile ride. I was up at 5.30, checked over the bike, filled a bidon and set off at 6.30am for a slow spin to the meet point. It was a warm morning, close, humid - there had been talk of a possible shower or two but the sky looked clear enough - i didn't bother with any rainwear.
Gaz and I pushed on to Ticknall and along the Repton road to Foremark, the reservoir was built in the 1970s to supply water to the East Midland region, it covers 230 acres and is regularly used for walking, fishing, bird watching and horse riding. It has a smart cafe and picnic areas and the view across the water as we sat drinking a coffee was stunning.
We signed in at the start point and set off at around 8.45am - i expected more cyclists, it seemed relatively quiet. Barry the Bell had joined us for this one and we enjoyed a long roll out from the reservoir towards Milton, before a short, sharp upwards stint towards Bretby. We were pushing along, 24/25mph were we could and made quick progress to the feed station, soon after the route split, we followed the signs for the longer route heading towards Lullington and Netherseal. The sun was strong now and we were all feeling the effects of the heat.
As I approached 50 miles as my total so far for the day, I became aware of an overwhelming feeling of tiredness. As we pedalled up a hill I felt weak, I was overtaken by quite a few cyclists who seemed to be spinning up much easier than me - i didn't think too much about it, I carried on and caught up on the downward stretches - at the next hill - quite a steep but short rise I was looking down at the road and found I couldn't raise my head to look forward - my shoulders and neck were tingling with fatigue - I couldn't quite comprehend this and forced myself onward. I'd lost touch with our group now and was crawling along at about 6mph. I saw Gary waiting at the end of the road - We rode on for another mile or two - I felt a cramp in my right calf, then one in the left, then both thighs - all at the same time, the pain was intense. As we came to the end of the road I had to stop. I got off the bike to sit on a bench. I was light headed. I felt the need to sleep. I had to close my eyes. When I opened them the grass around the bench was bright fluorescent yellow - as I looked around all the colours were intense and there were pulsating spots of yellow and purple - it was like some drug fuelled acid hallucination circa 1968. There was no way I could ride - I couldn't swallow, I couldn't talk - it felt like everything was shutting down. I managed to chew and swallow a couple of energy sweets I had in my pocket and Gary gave me the contents of one of his bidons. I sat there in a trance like state for what seemed like a few minutes but was in fact about 20. I started to feel better - my vision returned to normal and I walked around - I still felt extremely tired and slightly sick but thought I could carry on - we weren't far from the finish so I was determined to get there at least.
We made it back to Foremark and I grabbed a seat and a cup of coffee - i felt okay by now - the effects of Gary's water bottle and the couple of sweets had been enough to get me here. I ordered a sausage roll and double egg and chips from the cafe and sat in the shade. The food along with another couple of bidons of orange squash seemed to aid me further - I felt a lot better now and decided I could make the ride back home - 20 miles.
It was a slow ride back but I picked up a bottle of lucozade and a chocolate bar and used those for additional fuel. By the time I got home I was feeling okay - still tired and a little weak though. I had a shower and a lie down and then did some research.
I'd hit the wall. Or, as cyclists sometime call it, suffered from 'The Bonk'. Essentially this is a condition caused by the depletion of glycogen stores in the liver and muscles - it manifests itself by sudden fatigue and loss of energy. It's seriously debilitating - and quite simply makes it more or less impossible to do anything. I know exactly what I did wrong - I'd been to the pub the night before, a few pints, so probably some dehydration. I'd set off without eating any breakfast at all, I didn't fuel my body anywhere near the required amounts to sustain me over a ride of that distance at the pace we were doing - it's as simple as that. The bodies store of glycogen will only last 60-90minutes during a hard work out - after that energy levels drop fast!
Hopefully I've learnt a lesson - and so should any of you reading this - make sure you fuel up properly before any long rides - and just as important, take a supply of food/supplements to keep those levels topped up - The Bonk is horrible - I don't want to go there again!
Gaz and I pushed on to Ticknall and along the Repton road to Foremark, the reservoir was built in the 1970s to supply water to the East Midland region, it covers 230 acres and is regularly used for walking, fishing, bird watching and horse riding. It has a smart cafe and picnic areas and the view across the water as we sat drinking a coffee was stunning.
We signed in at the start point and set off at around 8.45am - i expected more cyclists, it seemed relatively quiet. Barry the Bell had joined us for this one and we enjoyed a long roll out from the reservoir towards Milton, before a short, sharp upwards stint towards Bretby. We were pushing along, 24/25mph were we could and made quick progress to the feed station, soon after the route split, we followed the signs for the longer route heading towards Lullington and Netherseal. The sun was strong now and we were all feeling the effects of the heat.
As I approached 50 miles as my total so far for the day, I became aware of an overwhelming feeling of tiredness. As we pedalled up a hill I felt weak, I was overtaken by quite a few cyclists who seemed to be spinning up much easier than me - i didn't think too much about it, I carried on and caught up on the downward stretches - at the next hill - quite a steep but short rise I was looking down at the road and found I couldn't raise my head to look forward - my shoulders and neck were tingling with fatigue - I couldn't quite comprehend this and forced myself onward. I'd lost touch with our group now and was crawling along at about 6mph. I saw Gary waiting at the end of the road - We rode on for another mile or two - I felt a cramp in my right calf, then one in the left, then both thighs - all at the same time, the pain was intense. As we came to the end of the road I had to stop. I got off the bike to sit on a bench. I was light headed. I felt the need to sleep. I had to close my eyes. When I opened them the grass around the bench was bright fluorescent yellow - as I looked around all the colours were intense and there were pulsating spots of yellow and purple - it was like some drug fuelled acid hallucination circa 1968. There was no way I could ride - I couldn't swallow, I couldn't talk - it felt like everything was shutting down. I managed to chew and swallow a couple of energy sweets I had in my pocket and Gary gave me the contents of one of his bidons. I sat there in a trance like state for what seemed like a few minutes but was in fact about 20. I started to feel better - my vision returned to normal and I walked around - I still felt extremely tired and slightly sick but thought I could carry on - we weren't far from the finish so I was determined to get there at least.
We made it back to Foremark and I grabbed a seat and a cup of coffee - i felt okay by now - the effects of Gary's water bottle and the couple of sweets had been enough to get me here. I ordered a sausage roll and double egg and chips from the cafe and sat in the shade. The food along with another couple of bidons of orange squash seemed to aid me further - I felt a lot better now and decided I could make the ride back home - 20 miles.
It was a slow ride back but I picked up a bottle of lucozade and a chocolate bar and used those for additional fuel. By the time I got home I was feeling okay - still tired and a little weak though. I had a shower and a lie down and then did some research.
I'd hit the wall. Or, as cyclists sometime call it, suffered from 'The Bonk'. Essentially this is a condition caused by the depletion of glycogen stores in the liver and muscles - it manifests itself by sudden fatigue and loss of energy. It's seriously debilitating - and quite simply makes it more or less impossible to do anything. I know exactly what I did wrong - I'd been to the pub the night before, a few pints, so probably some dehydration. I'd set off without eating any breakfast at all, I didn't fuel my body anywhere near the required amounts to sustain me over a ride of that distance at the pace we were doing - it's as simple as that. The bodies store of glycogen will only last 60-90minutes during a hard work out - after that energy levels drop fast!
Hopefully I've learnt a lesson - and so should any of you reading this - make sure you fuel up properly before any long rides - and just as important, take a supply of food/supplements to keep those levels topped up - The Bonk is horrible - I don't want to go there again!
Wednesday, 9 July 2014
Tour de France, Harrogate
We made the journey up to Yorkshire on Friday night - the route wasn't too bad in terms of traffic and we were pleasantly surprised that we made it to Harrogate in good time. We were staying 'Le maison Beryl' - a good friend of the blonde and willing to put up with us for the weekend (thanks Beryl). By 9.30pm Gary and I were out on the route, searching out a suitable spot to watch the riders pass by. The Ripon road into Harrogate undulates continually and there were many good vantage points.
We followed the route into Harrogate having walked about two miles, everywhere was decorated with bunting, bikes sprayed yellow, little knitted shirts in the tour leader colours, yellow, green, white and red and white polka dots. Shops had joined in too - most of them exhibiting some sort of Tour flavoured display amongst their wares. A dead elm tree located close to the world famous 'Betty's Tea Rooms' had been carved into a sculpture to mark the occasion. The town was busy as expected, various areas being set up ready for the next morning. We struggled to find a pub, finally we wandered up a street with a series of large, loud bars - people spilled out onto the pavements, music blaring and the world cup on big screens inside. This would have to do, and it was okay - the atmosphere was street-continental - it was warm and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Inside were a group of tough looking men, dressed in black, shaven heads, possibly Vladimir Putin and his entourage over to watch the racing we thought.
Walking back was out of the question after four pints of whatever flavour lager we were drinking - plus we had no idea of the route - thankfully there were plenty of taxis - we chose the one driven by a relative of Lewis Hamilton - we were back at Beryl's almost before we set off.
Saturday morning and the weather was good - we decided not to bother with umbrellas and raincoats - leaving more room for beer and wine. After a hearty breakfast (thanks Beryl) we headed off to claim our spot. When we got to the road there were already people there - Tour fever was beginning to manifest itself. We pushed into a corner on a stretch of road next to the 3km marker - the riders would be moving fast on this slightly downward section. We set up our chairs, positioned our bags, generally got comfortable. There were lots of people out already, gazebos set up, blankets on the grass verges, lots of cyclists riding up and down the course. I went off for a wander towards town to pick up a newspaper, a walk of about three miles there and back. People were arriving in a constant stream now, some carrying nothing at all, others laden with cool boxes, tables, barbecues etc. I heard that the local bus company was 'using every spare bus we have, including school buses'. Walking past a car dealership they had set up a tiered grandstand overlooking the road - and there were a number of houses with scaffolding gantry's built to provide a perfect view over the crowds. There were thousands of cyclists dotted around and many million pounds worth of bikes. I picked up a newspaper and started the journey back, the gaps roadside were filling up, the barbecues were lit the atmosphere was friendly and party-like. I dropped into a roadside pub where there was a big screen showing live coverage of the race progress - the photography looked stunning, the aerial shots of Yorkshire were a massive showcase advertisement for the county, beamed to a global audience of billions - the crowds were consistently big and then there were the yellow sheep! As I left the pub to continue the walk back there was an argument developing on the pub car park - a family had arrived and parked their car, one of the staff from the pub had walked over
"£25 to park here today"
"What? - you're having a laugh"
"Nah, it's £25 - Tour de France and that"
After some shouting, animated arm waving and a nose to nose stand-off the people got back in the car and left.
I walked back up to our spot, no spaces roadside now, just a continual snake of people, families, bikes, chairs, gazebos, barbecues and coolboxes - it was like one massive picnic and everyone was enjoying the atmosphere, just chilling, chatting and making the most of the beautiful weather. I got back to my chair, Gary was drinking a can of beer and chatting with the people around us. There was a steady stream of police motorbikes and various 'official' vehicles. People were waving at everything that went past. "That's the first time I've waved at a policeman using all five fingers" said the guy sitting with us - a wiry scot dressed in a polka dot King of the Mountains shirt.
By now we had established contact with mission control back in the Midlands. Gary had Val on the iPhone, she was relaying news of the race to Gary who then shouted it out for the benefit of those around us.
"Val says 15 kilograms to go....."
"....and the one at the front has lost his mate"
The crowd laughed and cheered. Bless.
The Tour caravan had now arrived - a continual procession of around 750 vehicles, lights flashing, horns blaring, music, people throwing samples into the crowd - there were cars that looked like mobile fruit shoot bottles, haribo bags, McCain oven chips..... everyone is whipped up into a frenzy of anticipation, we're all on our feet now
"4 kilograms to go" we hear from Val and then the helicopter comes into view, the advance outriders arrive, more police, cameramen, and then they're here, just in view at the top of the hill, a solid mass of colour moving fast towards us - whoosh - it's all over - they've gone in the blink of an eye, incredibly fast, probably 40-45mph maybe more. I just recognise the colours of Mark Cavendish's team at the front of the peloton, his ride out train to the finish has begun. There are a few stragglers rolling past now to appreciative applause from the crowds - there job is done, they have exhausted themselves pulling the peloton along and now its a steady coast to the finish.
The blonde calls me - she's watching the race on TV and relays the action - and it's the worst - Cav is down and hurt - the race is over the big German Marcel Kittel has won - no news on Cav but it looks bad she says, maybe a collarbone or broken shoulder.
That's it then, we all start packing up - I sit for a minute trying to pick up news on the iPhone, and reflecting on the day - it has been so good. Much more enjoyable than the experience of watching the final stage last year on the Champs Elysee - that's because we were prepared this time - we knew what to expect and were happy to sit around all day waiting - just like they do in France. We wished we were here for the second day but unfortunately not - its the drive back home now. One thing we noticed as we walked away, the crowds had gone now and there wasn't a scrap of litter to be seen. No mess at all, you'd never know there had been thousands of people along these roads a few minutes ago. We're learning how to present and take part in these large scale events and it's comforting to see.
Walking back was out of the question after four pints of whatever flavour lager we were drinking - plus we had no idea of the route - thankfully there were plenty of taxis - we chose the one driven by a relative of Lewis Hamilton - we were back at Beryl's almost before we set off.
Saturday morning and the weather was good - we decided not to bother with umbrellas and raincoats - leaving more room for beer and wine. After a hearty breakfast (thanks Beryl) we headed off to claim our spot. When we got to the road there were already people there - Tour fever was beginning to manifest itself. We pushed into a corner on a stretch of road next to the 3km marker - the riders would be moving fast on this slightly downward section. We set up our chairs, positioned our bags, generally got comfortable. There were lots of people out already, gazebos set up, blankets on the grass verges, lots of cyclists riding up and down the course. I went off for a wander towards town to pick up a newspaper, a walk of about three miles there and back. People were arriving in a constant stream now, some carrying nothing at all, others laden with cool boxes, tables, barbecues etc. I heard that the local bus company was 'using every spare bus we have, including school buses'. Walking past a car dealership they had set up a tiered grandstand overlooking the road - and there were a number of houses with scaffolding gantry's built to provide a perfect view over the crowds. There were thousands of cyclists dotted around and many million pounds worth of bikes. I picked up a newspaper and started the journey back, the gaps roadside were filling up, the barbecues were lit the atmosphere was friendly and party-like. I dropped into a roadside pub where there was a big screen showing live coverage of the race progress - the photography looked stunning, the aerial shots of Yorkshire were a massive showcase advertisement for the county, beamed to a global audience of billions - the crowds were consistently big and then there were the yellow sheep! As I left the pub to continue the walk back there was an argument developing on the pub car park - a family had arrived and parked their car, one of the staff from the pub had walked over
"£25 to park here today"
"What? - you're having a laugh"
"Nah, it's £25 - Tour de France and that"
After some shouting, animated arm waving and a nose to nose stand-off the people got back in the car and left.
I walked back up to our spot, no spaces roadside now, just a continual snake of people, families, bikes, chairs, gazebos, barbecues and coolboxes - it was like one massive picnic and everyone was enjoying the atmosphere, just chilling, chatting and making the most of the beautiful weather. I got back to my chair, Gary was drinking a can of beer and chatting with the people around us. There was a steady stream of police motorbikes and various 'official' vehicles. People were waving at everything that went past. "That's the first time I've waved at a policeman using all five fingers" said the guy sitting with us - a wiry scot dressed in a polka dot King of the Mountains shirt.
By now we had established contact with mission control back in the Midlands. Gary had Val on the iPhone, she was relaying news of the race to Gary who then shouted it out for the benefit of those around us.
"Val says 15 kilograms to go....."
"....and the one at the front has lost his mate"
The crowd laughed and cheered. Bless.
 |
| The caravan |
"4 kilograms to go" we hear from Val and then the helicopter comes into view, the advance outriders arrive, more police, cameramen, and then they're here, just in view at the top of the hill, a solid mass of colour moving fast towards us - whoosh - it's all over - they've gone in the blink of an eye, incredibly fast, probably 40-45mph maybe more. I just recognise the colours of Mark Cavendish's team at the front of the peloton, his ride out train to the finish has begun. There are a few stragglers rolling past now to appreciative applause from the crowds - there job is done, they have exhausted themselves pulling the peloton along and now its a steady coast to the finish.
 |
| The peloton arrives - Mark Cavendish's team at the front |
That's it then, we all start packing up - I sit for a minute trying to pick up news on the iPhone, and reflecting on the day - it has been so good. Much more enjoyable than the experience of watching the final stage last year on the Champs Elysee - that's because we were prepared this time - we knew what to expect and were happy to sit around all day waiting - just like they do in France. We wished we were here for the second day but unfortunately not - its the drive back home now. One thing we noticed as we walked away, the crowds had gone now and there wasn't a scrap of litter to be seen. No mess at all, you'd never know there had been thousands of people along these roads a few minutes ago. We're learning how to present and take part in these large scale events and it's comforting to see.
 |
| Our roadside companions |
Wednesday, 25 June 2014
French Revolutions....
He tells the tale with humour and wit - i have to admit to be being totally enthralled by this account - it has kept me entertained for a while, I will be seeking further books by Tim - he has also ridden the 1913 route of the Giro - on a vintage bike!
He may not be the world's most accomplished cyclist but he communicates his love of the sport and his admiration for the cycling greats - The book is dedicated to Tom Simpson and is full of references to the likes of LeMond, Hinault, Boardman, Anquetil, Merckx and Indurain to name a few. Whilst he is undertaking the ride Moore resorts to standard tactics, cheating and drugs! - it is, at times, hilarious.
French Revolutions is clever, entertaining and inspirational - it is fresh, personal and immensely enjoyable - worth a punt if you can find a copy.
Monday, 23 June 2014
L'Eroica in Derbyshire....
So, Gary gets to work and his boss says 'Hey, what's this Eroica thing, something to do with bikes - I thought it was Erotica at first glance'... In fact L'Eroica is a unique event. An Italian cycling festival held each year in Tuscany and run on ancient, bone-shaking gravel roads (strada blanche) with vintage racing bikes, woollen jerseys and fuelled by rich Italian food and wine.
This year, the three day festival has moved to Bakewell in Derbyshire, the first time the event has visited the UK - and whilst we can't offer the strada blanche, or even the chianti - there is always the Bakewell Tart to keep riders fuelled.
We made the journey on a glorious, hot and sticky Sunday - approaching Bakewell the traffic build up was noticeable and the car parks were bursting. L'Eroica is being held on the Bakewell show ground, right in the town centre, it's a free event and there's plenty for non-cyclists to enjoy as well. It's a much bigger affair than I imagined, rows of tents and displays selling all manner of vintage cycling accessories, old bikes, bits of old bikes, clothes, books - you name it. There is a myriad of food outlets, not the usual burger-bar variety though, these are considered street food stalls - everything from French Crepes through to houmous wraps. There's a Double decker bus converted into a Pimms Bar - there is a real ale beer tent, a stage with bands playing and the constant commentary as riders who have taken part in one of the three courses available complete their journey's and arrive back. There's a man dressed as a baker on an old delivery bike. There's someone in a vintage policeman's uniform, complete with flowing cape and helmet (must be boiling in this weather), there's someone who completed the course on a Raleigh Chopper - mostly though it's people with a love of old, steel bikes who have gone to the trouble of sourcing period clothing, shoes and various apparel to complete the 'look' - even the facial hair has received appropriate attention and there's a tent to get your moustache suitably trimmed and waxed.
There are cyclists from all over the world - a solid contingent from Italy of course, plus a rider from Berlin who has cycled 870 miles on a 1960s Mercier vintage bike, camping along the way, to get here. We hear of riders from Brazil, Australia and there are plenty of Americans too. It really is a fantastic, well organised showcase. The weather, of course, helped to ensure its success.
Let's hope it happens again - I almost came away with a 1960s Bianchi, then there was the 1970s Colnago - Vintage could be the new cool.
This year, the three day festival has moved to Bakewell in Derbyshire, the first time the event has visited the UK - and whilst we can't offer the strada blanche, or even the chianti - there is always the Bakewell Tart to keep riders fuelled.We made the journey on a glorious, hot and sticky Sunday - approaching Bakewell the traffic build up was noticeable and the car parks were bursting. L'Eroica is being held on the Bakewell show ground, right in the town centre, it's a free event and there's plenty for non-cyclists to enjoy as well. It's a much bigger affair than I imagined, rows of tents and displays selling all manner of vintage cycling accessories, old bikes, bits of old bikes, clothes, books - you name it. There is a myriad of food outlets, not the usual burger-bar variety though, these are considered street food stalls - everything from French Crepes through to houmous wraps. There's a Double decker bus converted into a Pimms Bar - there is a real ale beer tent, a stage with bands playing and the constant commentary as riders who have taken part in one of the three courses available complete their journey's and arrive back. There's a man dressed as a baker on an old delivery bike. There's someone in a vintage policeman's uniform, complete with flowing cape and helmet (must be boiling in this weather), there's someone who completed the course on a Raleigh Chopper - mostly though it's people with a love of old, steel bikes who have gone to the trouble of sourcing period clothing, shoes and various apparel to complete the 'look' - even the facial hair has received appropriate attention and there's a tent to get your moustache suitably trimmed and waxed.There are cyclists from all over the world - a solid contingent from Italy of course, plus a rider from Berlin who has cycled 870 miles on a 1960s Mercier vintage bike, camping along the way, to get here. We hear of riders from Brazil, Australia and there are plenty of Americans too. It really is a fantastic, well organised showcase. The weather, of course, helped to ensure its success.Let's hope it happens again - I almost came away with a 1960s Bianchi, then there was the 1970s Colnago - Vintage could be the new cool.
Sunday, 22 June 2014
Ashby to Amsterdam - Day 3
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| Ferry cabin |
It was a bad start - we couldn't get any help from the GPS and we spent 20 minutes riding round looking for a signpost or someone to ask. We found a dog walker who told us to head for The Hague and we'd pick up the Amsterdam signs from there. When we asked how to get to The Hague she just said 'Go that way' and pointed.
A bit further we saw two youngish lads on bikes - we asked them if we were on the right road for Amsterdam - they looked at us in disbelief - 'I don't know' said one 'We go to Amsterdam on the train'
 |
| windmill |
Through The Hague we pass into more rural countryside, the land of Erasmus and Rutger Hauer, Rembrandt and Van Gogh - a few more windmills, dykes, quiet roads, mostly new buildings. Pretty unremarkable really. We pause in a village for a coffee and a cake - we sit outside, opposite a supermarket. There is no car park for the supermarket just a big bike rack - no one seems to use a car for shopping - just an endless stream of bikes, people have panniers or baskets on the front or both, they load their shopping and they're off again - it all works so well.
 |
| more windmills |
It's another steaming hot day as we edge towards our goal. And talking of goals I suddenly realise England will be making their debut in this years World Cup competition tonight - another late night then. We follow a road alongside a river for a while - there are some expensive speed boats moored alongside luxuriously appointed property on the other bank - a whole row of them. Not long after we spot our first road sign for Amsterdam and we're riding through some sort of park - lots of trees, grassy patches with children and families playing, loads of intertwining narrow paths. Soon we're lost again. The GPS and the signposts have differing opinions on which way to go - strangely we opt for the GPS. We ride alongside a river, marked out into lanes ready for a rowing match, then we approach the edge of the city, the roads grow increasingly busy, more traffic, more bikes, more buildings - the cycle lanes are filling out, there're all shapes, sizes and ages - a constant river - it must be the world's biggest peloton.
As the city sprawl grows we are faced with the alarming prospect of attempting to cross a major road junction - this is not so easy - traffic, people, bikes - all moving independently in different directions and not necessarily corresponding to the indications on the traffic light system. We just follow the person in front - straight through a red light - brushing past pedestrians, deflecting granny overtaking on her solid steel Dutch roadster with a couple of grandkids in the basket on the front of her bike.
 |
| bikes everywhere |
We get showered and changed and then head out into the city - we decide the best option is to keep moving, its either that or we'll drop asleep. We have a beer and while standing on a bridge over a canal with flower-decked barges and families of coots below - we decide on a boat trip around the canals, very reasonable at around €10 a head. I last about 10 minutes before nodding off as the sun streams down through the glass roof of the boat. Afterwards we find an old bar down a side street, almost pitch black inside, there's jazz music playing, a chandelier that carries the dust of the entire twentieth century and a mysterious spiral staircase in the corner leading who knows where? As our eyes adjust to the darkness and the dutch beer soothes the aches and pains we slide gently into the chilled atmosphere of Amsterdam. My mind drifts to thoughts of liberalism, the detritus of vice, the open drugs culture - everyone know what Amsterdam is famous for - it's not food or cultural destinations - it's fun, sex 'n' drugs - and in these two preoccupations you can view the Dutch dilemma - the tug of liberty against probity. The two longest queues in Amsterdam are outside Anne Frank's house and a live sex show. Anyway, time to get back to the hotel - The England/Italy match is about to start.
It's Sunday. A bad start to our World Cup campaign. We decide to visit the Van Gogh museum. This is a good choice - we spend the fastest three hours I can remember exploring the various floors - its a big space and there's enough to keep us interested. We finally emerge via the museum shop €100 lighter but contentedly humming Don McLean's 'Vincent' all the way to the next stop, conveniently situated just across the road - The Bols Museum. You may have some recollection of seeing a Bols bottle somewhere, maybe at the back of your drinks cabinets or that of your parents - But without Bols there's be no Gin - and the world would be a sadder place without Gin.
We decide we need to eat and turn onto a street full of restaurants - we opt for Cau-Cau - a big, loud space, black walls with silver highlights, modern furniture and high ceilings with a relentless post-modern hip-hop beat thrumming on a continuous loop. The menu is unashamedly carnivorous. Detailed descriptions of various cuts of Argentinian beef. It's not cheap but sounds good. We order.
The Steak is tasty and tender, an agreeable lump of perfectly cooked muscle - the best I've tasted in a long time. The fries come in varying thickness and there's an interesting side dish of garden peas with chilli. Afterwards, back in the hotel bar, we muse over the trip and deliberate on our next challenge - this one has worked out so well, it will be a hard act to follow.
Amsterdam is an agreeable city. It's human sized and it doesn't blind you with ostentation. It's a nice place, commodious and comfortable. I'll be going again.
Thursday, 19 June 2014
Ashby to Amsterdam - Day 2
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| Hemingford Gray |
 |
| The river Cam |
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| Tour de France sign |
We consulted the map and decided that Haverhill looked sizeable enough to meet our needs - and not too far away. This was to be our first disappointment on this trip. A market town but with the market long since moved on, this shabby, tired outpost demonstrates so much that is depressing about Britain today. Cheap, tacky shops, burgers and kebabs, amusement arcades, betting shops, charity shops, lager louts effing and blinding and piles of rubbish bags. We passed along the high street deciding that the first pub looked uninviting. The next one looked okay and we rolled our bikes into the small decking-clad courtyard. The tables were all taken by groups of young people, drinking and chatting - the pub was busy, people playing pool, horse racing on the TV. I ordered a couple of drinks and then asked what food they had. Unfortunately there was no food - just beer and crisps.
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| Buckleys Tea Room |
We hit the road again and on a short climb up through another village, a strange noise began emanating from somewhere on my bike - Gary heard it too - we both stopped, I messed around with the bike, flipping it over and poking around at the chain and gears - whatever it was it seemed to have disappeared - we set off again, a windy, twisting road, up and down, sweeping through lanes darkened by overhanging trees, then back out into the heat of the open fields - I reached for my sunglasses... I didn't have them. I remembered taking them off when messing with the bike - I'd put them on the Church wall. These are Oakley Jawbones - I had to go back!
Six miles or so later I rejoined Gary and we pressed on. We approached a crossroads and spotted a cyclist moving quickly in the same direction as we were heading. He was on a mountain bike , but definitely no slouch. Gary decided to take chase. With hindsight this was a mistake - in fact with any sort of sight - it was clear this chap was shifting - we were moving at 20+mph and making no headway. We stepped on the gas, gradually reeling him in, 24, 25mph and still it was taking time. By the time we caught him I was totally spent - Gary chatted about he had taken some catching - I just tried to get my breath back. Then he invited us to go on. We blasted off again, me in front, pushing, pushing as hard as I could - 25, 26, 27mph, faster on the downhills - I glanced round hoping to have opened a gap - Gary was about 20 yards back and the mountain biker right behind him. I carried on a bit longer and we approached another village with a nasty looking hill - the mountain biker pulled level - he glanced over - "This is a bit of a tester" that was all he said and he was gone - dancing up the rise at more or less the same pace as he held on the flat. We gave in. It was a steep hill.
Next stop for us was East Bergholt. The name might not mean much - but I guarantee that you'd recognise the scene at Flatford Mill, hidden away in the village, the setting for John Constable's renowned painting, The Hay Wain. We pithered around the village looking for signs - none. We asked three or four people for directions, none of them seemed capable of giving us clear guidance, it seemed that Flatford Mill was East Bergholt's best kept secret.
The place is immediately recognisable as the scene from the painting and there were plenty of people milling round (no pun intended). We climbed back up to the village and stopped for a pint of beer before setting off on the final leg to Harwich - maybe 10-15 miles away.
Those last few miles were a drag - the effort of racing mountain bike man had taken me into the red. It was a slow slog up the main drag into Harwich - but at last we were there. Meeting up with the Blonde and her wing woman at the big Brewers Fayre on the island. We were also greeted by a policeman. He wandered over to congratulate us. He lives in Ashby de la Zouch and works as a copper in Solihull - he and his mates were riding to Bruges, raising money for the Air Ambulance - they call themselves 'The Helli-Coppers". So there we are us and about 30 policeman, al dressed in lycra, with some officers of the law stripping off in the car park - there was something comical about the scene.
After a well earned fish and chip supper it was onto the ferry for the overnight crossing to the Hook of Holland. It was huge ferry, and our cabins were sumptuous, three large portholes, two TV's a complimentary mini-bar and a really good shower. We sat in the bar for a couple of drinks but bed was calling - the gentle movement of the ship rocked me to sleep in seconds.
96.5 miles covered - 7.5 hours on the bike.
Wednesday, 18 June 2014
Ashby to Amsterdam - Day 1
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| Ashby de la Zouch |
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| Jade Tearooms - Newtown Linford |
'Have you been far' she enquired.
'No' said Gary - 'But we're going far'
'Where to'
'Amsterdam'
There was a pause and a vague look of incomprehension.
'Good gracious'
The coffee was welcome and Gary proclaimed that the cakes on display were the best he'd ever seen. We sat amongst what could have been the tea break for a Boden catalogue shoot on a blissful bright blue morning. It was a perfect stop.
And then we were off again. A bit more stop-start with the GPS and we were heading towards Leicester - in fact we very nearly passed my place of work. The traffic was quieter at this time of day but still busy enough to make us think twice before any change of direction. We cut through the traffic like London couriers as we made our way out of the city and in the vague direction of Cambridgeshire.
Before this trip someone said 'It'll be easy - it's flat all the way after Leicester' - They lied - it isn't - in fact immediately after Leicester we laboured up a number of hills, some of them dragged on-and-on... it was hot now, the midday sun was strong, streams of salty sweat stung our eyes. We were on roads that offered nothing in the way of hospitality. No pubs, no roadside cafes not even the ubiquitous mobile burger van - nothing but tarmac and grass verges. We carried on, upwards, by now we had begun consulting a map - both Gary and I had torn out pages from old map books - his was slightly larger scale than mine and offered more detail - but went over more pages. We concurred that a good plan would be to turn off and head to a town, we needed some food and a rest.
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| The Crown - Uppingham |
Off we went, back out into the sun, soon to feel the recent intake of fluids seep from our pores. We still had a long way to go, and it still wasn't particularly flat. We made steady progress through endless green fields, the great fire and brimstone, steam and grind of the industrial upheaval of the 19th century never made it here. As we laboured slowly up yet another hill I spotted a sign at the roadside - 'Gelato' - It took less than a nano-second to decide on a stop.
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| At the Olive Grove |
We checked into The Willow B&B - fantastic choice by Gaz - more like a hotel, spotlessly clean, fully functional, modern and a friendly welcome from the owner Kate. A quick shower, some clean, dry clothes and we were off to the pub for supper - all of 20 yards away!
The Cock had some great hoppy beers and we worked our way through a couple before moving into the dining room - this is more restaurant than pub - but still retains a pubby atmosphere. The food is gastropub, sophisticated, modern and maybe a little minimal - but tasty enough after 104 miles. We finished with another pint and then bed. Long way to go again tomorrow.
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