Climb to calm

It’s a place that we go and ride often.  The hilltops are clad with a brush of heather and the combes that connect to the valley bottom cascade with oak and beech that wrap you in an embrace of colour as the seasons change.  Each time we ride there’s a choice. Start high and be met with sky and the gentle undulations of the cresting hills, or start low where the streams level as they pass beyond the combes to the sea.  As often as not, there’s an unspoken agreement that the ride begins with a climb.  Sky views, though cherished, still have to be earned.

There’s always that initial period at the beginning of a ride, as the wheels escape tarmac to be met with the richer textures and resistance of earth, rock and roots.  No words are exchanged, and looks are measured as individually you break away from the place where you were, to the space where you want to be. 

In recent years I’ve been seduced by the concept of meditation and its promise of an antidote to the chaos of life with its acquired cloak of modernity.  In my yoga practices I try to concentrate on stillness and breath, but only rarely find the place where the mind and body cooperate and find balance.

But sometimes, it seems that the thing we’ve been looking for has been there all along; just waiting for its value to be unearthed and recognised.  As I drop down the gears and cast my eyes towards the horizon, my characteristically racing mind quietens, and all the competing thoughts drift away as I will back the muscle memory that I know I need to carry me upwards.

Mechanical propulsion; there’s that reassuring simplicity in knowing that the action of turning the pedals can take you as far as your body and mind are prepared for.   There’s a comfort in the repetition as the warmth starts to spread, and the sense of movement and familiarity reminds you of why you pushed aside all the competing interests for this moment in time.

And there it is, in the simple act of pointing the bike uphill, your mind empties and the calm spreads like an embrace.

Ruthx


 ... summit sunshine not included ...

You're STILL riding?

My cycling year got off to a slow start after a Christmas skiing accident left me on crutches with a torn thigh muscle. Rats. I gradually worked my way back to fitness only to then find (happily) that I was pregnant.

I consulted my GP, who said road cycling was fine up to about six months, after which time I might find myself having problems with balance, so the boyf (also a keen cyclist) agreed happily for life to continue as normal with me cycling to work.

On announcing our news to family, colleagues and friends, however, there's been a general reaction of :

"Congratulations. I take it you're not cycling any more?"

"No, I'm still cycling."

[face of horror]

"But you could get knocked off. And kill the baby"

Sigh. I try to explain that me keeping fit is important. And non-weight bearing exercise is good. And cycling (even in London) doesn't necessarily mean you will be knocked off and/or killed. But suddenly everyone has an opinion and everyone thinks I'm wrong. I find it exhausting (and somewhat annoying) to have to defend our decision on a daily basis. Surely if both parents and the doctor believe it to be a reasonable risk, it's fine? Not to mention the fact that plenty of pregnant women in other countries continue to cycle, like these gorgeous ladies from Denmark.

(photo by Mikael Colville-Andersen)

I am mindful of the dangers of London roads and, now that the bean is a bit bigger and I am a bit slower, I have taken to cycling on the towpath, rather than the South Circular, but I remain a militantly enthusiastic cyclist, defending my right to :

 a) get around London in reasonably prompt fashion
 b) not to feel sick when I get there after hot and smelly train carriages

Apparently this makes me a reckless and selfish woman though. So did you / would you cycle when you were pregnant?  Or would you head to the swimming pool instead?

F.B.R.O.T.Y (and other adventures)

There's usually one definitive ride early on each year that marks the end of winter and reminds me of the promise of the coming months of more daylight and slightly less muddy trails (the First Big Ride of the Year), but there wasn't one this year.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mean I haven't been out for a big ride this year yet. What I mean is that because we had a pretty mild winter, we were able to keep riding and going for big rides in the hills for much of the winter. In fact, at the end of February Chris and I went for a big mountain ride in the Cairngorms which is currently covered in snow and unrideable!

Already this year I've done more riding in new places places than I did in the whole of last year. The flip side of this is that I haven't been near a race at all this year (unless you count the birthday cycle speedway back in February).

It's not that I haven't thought about racing, because I have, but the mild and relatively dry weather have meant that trails are rideable, but still pretty quiet because it's still early in the year.

I say relatively dry weather, however, Chris seems to have dragged me out on more bad weather death march rides this year than he has over the last few years combined....

Carrying bikes through the Chalamain Gap (over a kilometer of unrideable boulderfield which would have been challenging even without a bike) with a nasty storm chasing us off the hill...

Pushing bikes up to the top of Lowther Hill in zero visibility, driving rain and sleet and no sign of the next marker post (somehow, Chris actually picked up on the tune which was going through my head on that ride...that old Tammy Wynette song D.I.V.O.R.C.E...I swear I didn't sing it out loud!). In fact, the weather was so bad that day, even the lambs were wearing raincoats!

But then we've also had big, open mountain rides, so early on in the year, that there hasn't been a soul around.

The great thing about all this riding so early in the year is that I'm finally managing to get some of that lost fitness back and I'm getting back all that lost confidence too.

On Saturday, I went out for a ride with the big boys and actually rode some of the big boy stuff...they were there to coach me and encourage me, but I rode it, overcame the fear of crashing and ignored the little voice telling me to slam on the brakes and get off and walk this bit!

Then on Monday, I had a lovely day off work and decided to headed off for a ride on my own (I had the trails all to myself...bliss) and managed to ride lots of bits of trail that I've never been brave enough to ride before and I didn't even hear that little voice telling me to get off and walk. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to try riding big, scary things I've always been afraid of when I'm out on my own, but if you're feeling confident and riding like a goddess (even if I do say so myself...of course there was nobody there to see me and tell you otherwise), then why waste all that good feeling by not pushing the limits a little bit?

I don't know if I'll be able to ride it all when I go back to it next time, but I've ridden it, I've finally got over the nerves left over from my crash last October and I'm starting to push myself again and feel like my mojo has finally come back.

My lack of fitness is still really frustrating, but I'm enjoying going out to play on bikes again and looking for excuses to go and play, whatever the weather ...Chris would say that's because of all the death marches he's been taking me on...all good training apparently!

So no real FBROTY this year, but lots of BRs so far and a promising summer of lots more BRs pushing myself and having fun again. I don't really have many race plans until the end of the summer, so that leaves a whole summer for playing on my bike and riding in new places. What more could a girl ask for?

Jac
x

It's all biking ...

I have always had an affinity for hills.  It doesn’t have to be mountains – although a decent, properly craggy top will always grab my attention – generally it just needs to be somewhere with a lung expanding amount of height, offering the promise of a view, and that provides the ‘map like’ perspective you only get with a good dose of elevation. 

It’s hard to say what it is about being in the hills that I like most.  Sometimes it’s the subtlety of a wraparound, velvety contour as the clouds judder over the ridge, but on other days it can just be the downright grandeur of the geology itself, writ large against the ravages of time and people.  

Perhaps not surprising then, that from the moment I jumped on my first fluro-forked, fully rigid, canti-braked Marin; mountain biking has been the perfect way to feed my soul-led desire to be in hilly places.

So, finding myself on a rainy, overcast Sunday morning en route to Thetford - gazing out at the steadfastly flat landscapes of Norfolk - I was having some distinct problems reconciling my view of how the ‘mountain’ and ‘biking’ bits were going to fit together. 

I’d been lured by a good friend who knows the area well, with the promise of ribbony, flowing, mile upon mile of singletrack. “Honestly, you’ll love it!”  Honestly; I wasn’t so sure.  Some people find big horizon skies liberating, I could feel myself mentally hunting for a bump or hillock, in fact any sort of feature that I could ‘tuck’ away into.

Turns out, I needn’t have worried. As I was led on a dance of twists and turns through the trees, I stopped looking for hills and quickly switched to seeking out bumps and turns as my speed sources.  In fact, slight elevations became interruptions to the increasingly ‘flat out’ chase, as my eyes and expectations adjusted to the terrain.  Even the experience of being on an extremely diddy, loaner singlespeed didn’t alter the sensation of momentum, and the narrow [bordering on retro-chic] handlebars, made gap squeezing a breeze.

You’re never going to convince me that riding the flatlands is mountain biking as I know and love it.  But it’s certainly biking in its own right, and with good friends for company that’s more than enough – even for this mountain goat!

Ruthx

I rode!

I rode!, a photo by jumbly on Flickr.

I've been more ill than not so far this year. It has seriously hindered bike riding, running and general enjoyment of life. Two weeks ago with the help of a general anaesthetic and a lovely surgeon me and my gallbladder parted company.

Ten days of proper convalescence, some serious blanket action, 22 episodes of The West Wing. Then the sun came out. Two days of deck chair and the latest Haruki Murakami book. Today...... I rode!

Only four miles, but enough to induce a grin. Enough to finally start feeling like I'm on the mend.

Vikki

Let it go

Minx met Ruth because she lived 'just down the road' so it was an excuse for hand-delivered orders and gradually longer bike-chat sessions. Minx admires Ruth's dedication to scary downhill stuff, Ruth pretends not to think Minx is a wimp for sticking firmly to one gear and a complete lack of suspension. Here's her first post...

I’m sure Daniel Goleman, he of ‘Emotional Intelligence’ best selling, book fame - if you can remember that far back to the mid 1990s - would have had something to say about the interplay (or maybe the disjuncture) between the messages you get from your head and the ones you get from your heart.

You see, I have a bit of habit of coming at stuff, including my riding, with my rational, switched on, ‘thinking brain’, all fired up and ready to guide me through the rocky stuff (literally and metaphorically speaking).  Tricky root fest adorning an off camber drop in? … no problem, adjust speed, roll in, lay off brakes, look ahead to exit point, allow the suspension to do its thing ... job done.

Ah ha! my clever head says, ‘you see’, knowledge applied correctly means that your brain chemistry is coordinating your body mechanics and all is well in the world of off road riding stability.  It’s all nanosecond stuff; but it’s still a triumph for my thinking brain.

But you know what? My best moments; the times when I genuinely experience that magic dust stuff that the journos call ‘flow’, when my bike and body work seamlessly together.  Well I don’t ‘think’ that stuff at all.  It’s my pure, base evolutionary brain synapses instinctively creating movement and anticipating the trail ahead.   You’ll know it when you feel it, cause you’ll be darned if you can describe what it was you just did … you just know that it felt right.

Which says to me that maybe there’s a time to switch off the busy mind and let it go; that’ll be riding with your heart.

Ruth

The Slow Road

After an eventful Christmas ski trip, culminating in a short flight in a helicopter to hospital and some frantic attempts to remember long-lost GCSE German, I found myself on crutches for all of January. And whilst my biceps came along a treat during that time, my leg muscles (one of them torn by the aforementioned accident) atrophied away.

So February was mostly spent doing dull physio exercises - one-legged squats, etc etc. And, gradually, trying to get back to somewhere near fit. 20 minutes on the rollers one day, 25 the next and so on.

Then I rode to work. I never thought that 8 miles would feel like SUCH a long way. I had a rest on the way. And wanted to sleep at my desk by 11am. After a week or so, that got easier and I thought I was fit so rode to my sister's house (18 miles). Had to stay the night as found it such a shock.

It's maddening how quickly you lose fitness and how slowly you gain it (for me, at least). The leg still hurts much of the time, there's a tiny dent where the muscle tear was, and anything over 40 miles is still unfathomably far, but the NHS physio declares me "better". Right.

EDIT: After a short ride in the sun today I am MUCH more cheery. I will get there! But slowly.

Livvy

New Tricks?

Last Saturday morning 11 hardy souls gathered to celebrate a friend's birthday at the Gin Pit...no, not some dodgy illegal drinking den, but the Astley and Tyldesley Cycle Speedway track.

I had never even watched cycle speedway until the birthday boy forwarded on a you tube clip of the world championships....aside from looking a bit like wacky races, it looked like it might hurt. I figured the full face helmet might be overkill though.

We were the first to arrive at a very frozen and icy track. To keep warm whilst we waited for the others to arrive we volunteered to help clear the ice off the track...it didn't really help that much. It was freezing!

Soon everyone arrived and our commissaire for the day set about telling us how it works. 4 laps round a very short course...how hard can that be? Only 5 races? Surely that's only a few minutes of racing over the whole day. Sounded like a much easier option than cyclocross or cross country!

I was picked as one of the first riders to line up on the start line with three others(including 2 children a fraction of my age and size, but a lot more experienced at cycle speedway than me). The gate went up and I quickly realised that 4 laps round a short course might just hurt!

Cut up on the first corner by a small child. Much sqeaking by me as I tried to avoid crashing straight in to him. Much goading by the crowd for being chicken. Nearly wiped out on the second corner. Cut up again on third corner. Try not to ride over small child (I'm sure it wouldn't be good form). Foot out to help drift round the fourth and fifth corners. Bit more speed. Very sketchy sixth corner. Shut my eyes on the seventh corner. Fail miserably to catch the children and come in dead last!


My day kind of continued in the same vein. Beaten into a pulp by children, frightening myself by drifting wildly round corners and nearly riding into other riders. But everyone else was sufferingthe same fate at the hands of the children.

Given our overall incompetence, the commissaire, decided that the children should have their own final and we could fight it out amongst ourselves.

That's when it got nasty!

For a bunch of friends, we gave no quarter. Elbows out. Cutting eachother up. Even some pushing out of the way (yes, you know who you are!)

I made it into the "not quite the slowest" final and decided to try the dirty tricks like the children did and it paid off. Cutting up the last rider at the first corner and managing to keep him just behind me from then on in meant I didn't finish DFL.

Despite the cold, the humiliation at the hands of children and the mouth full of red grit from the track, a fun day was had by all. About the best day's racing we've had in a long time!

Is cycle speedway the next thing to have a bash at?

Jac
x

Deep Breath

Yesterday afternoon I went back to the scene of the crime and it's fair to say, it was more of a challenge than I expected.

I know I've lost a lot of fitness (and put on a bit of weight) since the crash, so I've been putting in the effort over the last few weeks to try to get some of my fitness back. Going to the gym, taking the long, hilly route home and I've even been going running a few times a week!

So, when a friend suggested a ride at Innerleithen, I figured I should give it a bash. After all, I've got over the fear and I'm feeling a bit fitter again and it was time to face that demon.

The day didn't start well....hair appointment in the morning went well until they ran out of hot water mid-shampoo. So I was later than I had planned setting off to Innerleithen. Quick text to say I'm running late, but on my way. Then the road was closed and there was a big diversion. Second text to say I'd be quite a bit late now.

I eventually arrived feeling a bit stressed and surprisingly anxious!

We set off up the hill and almost straight away I started to feel a bit overwhelmed. I knew I should be able to ride at this pace, but I was really struggling. I was getting myself into a bit of a tizz and the more I tried to stay calm, the more nervous I was getting.

I knew it was ridiculous, but I realised I was going to have to face this demon on my own. So, a few deep breaths, slightly teary eyed, I made my apologies and set off on my own. A few minutes later and Chris caught me up...he knew how nervous I was so decided to ride with me...just to make sure.

The climb up to Minch Moor was tough. I kept plodding at my own pace, but I was in a much more noodly gear than I would usually be. I decided not to take the short cut and to keep pushing on up to the top, just to prove to myself that I could. The descent from the top, which is usually a super quick, whoopy ride was a bit more subdued than usual, but as I rode, my confidence started to grow a bit and I decided not to take the chicken run around the rocky drops.

I made the first one, went a bit faster off the second one, then let go of the brakes all together on the third. By the time I caught up with Chris at the next marker post, I was starting to grin.

There was a bit of a diversion because of logging work, so Chris suggested we go a slightly different way. After a few minutes I was totally lost, until we popped out on a fire break at the top of the downhill runs. Chris had planned this all along so that I'd have to ride some of the more techy trails and test myself.

We agreed that I'd just see Chris down at the next fire road so that I could mince down at my own pace.

I watched Chris head off down the trail and felt the nerves build up again.

Deep breath. I've done this before. I know I can do this. Another deep breath, then I set off after Chris.

I had to give myself a bit of a talking to, but I managed not to do any panic braking and made it down to the fire road in one piece.

Did I want to do the next bit?

Deep breath....yes. What the heck, let's do it.

This time I managed to keep Chris in sight, so I must have been going a bit faster. There was a bit of an incident with a tree, but I made it again and wasn't feeling nervous any more.

Then we were on to the last bit of trail back down to the car park. I'd made it and I'd faced the demon of the crash site.

It was an incredibly frustrating ride because it was clear that I'm not as fit as I was and it was more of a challenge than it should have been, but I proved to myself that I can still ride the scary stuff (okay, so I rode it slowly, but I rode it!).

It'll be a wee while before I'm back to where I was before the crash, but at least now I know I can still do it.

I just need to decide now whether to sign up for the enduro at Innerleithen next weekend.....

Jac
x

Onwards...

Regular readers will remember the guest post from Lesley back in August, and her start back to cycling fitness after a diagnosis of (and subsequently successful treatment for), breast cancer. Well, an update email popped into the inbox from her, and it seems a landmark has been reached...

I’ve just got back from a long weekend in the Yorkshire Dales with Rich and as I ride into work my legs still scream whenever I threaten to actually put some effort in, needless to say it was a brilliant weekend. 


The weather forecast was not a pleasant one, but since breast cancer earlier this year my attitude to weather has somewhat changed. Whilst packing for the weekend I just couldn’t decide which bike to take – road or mountain? Due to the surgery I’ve had I’ve only ridden on the road so far and have been itching to get back on my mountain bike but I know my fitness isn’t what it used to be and my upper body strength is considerably weaker. However, the mountain bike won and with it packed in the van I knew exactly which ride we were going to do.


Back to this time last year, along with a group of friends, we rode a superb route in the Dales from Ingleton. Everything was perfect, the sky was blue and clear, the sun was up there, the air was crisp, the scenery simply beautiful, the trails quiet and the company good. You know, one of those rides that stays with you long after you’re back home. As it happens, due to last winter’s weather and my ‘unfortunate’ start to this year that ride was the last decent off road ride I did. Now I’m not sure why, perhaps it’s something to do with starting where I left off but as the months of my recovery have gone by I have become slightly obsessed with doing it again.


Well last weekend that’s exactly what I did.


The wild and windy weather was ‘challenging’, meaning a few hills had to be pedalled down as well as a few hills pushed up, but I soaked up every minute just incredibly happy to be there again. And as I rode out of the Clapham tunnels, knowing that the end was only a few miles along the lane I was grinning like an idiot. 


I’d done it, I’m back where I want to be and I can’t tell you how good that feels.

Macaroni Cheese

I've now had almost three months off the bike following my ungracious crash back in October - I did sneak a few rides in early on, but got a stern telling off from my doc who told me not to ride until I stopped getting headaches, dizzy spells and wobbling....that took until late December! Then, would you believe, I got a stinking chest infection!.

Over the last few weeks, I've been out for a few rides and I've really struggled. Although I'd managed to do a few, quite dull, turbo sessions since October, not being on the bike for such a long time really meant that I'd lost an awful lot of fitness and the chest infection left me wheezing and coughing. So rides where I should have been blasting along having great fun, were hard work and a wee bit depressing to be honest. Struggling to keep up, toiling up hills and just feeling like I've got no strength in my legs at all and wheezing away like an old woman.

I know I'm no Gunn-Rita, but it shouldn't be this tough!

And to make matters worse, I've got the fear! Descents I usually love are making me nervous, which is not good!

So, on New Year's Eve, I decided I needed to get out and do a fun ride at a leisurely pace, so I suggested a local ride on some trails around town, mixing up some rooty stuff, quick stuff, some practice on drops and jumps I know I can do...just to remind myself that I can ride a bike.

Well, the climb out of town wasn't exactly a breeze, but it wasn't as tough as when I did it a few weeks ago. Then I rode the steps I'd wimped out of a few weeks ago when the fear took hold. Then I made it up that short sharp climb. Up that long slog and managed to keep chatting. Then we were at the highest point....it wasn't as bad as I expected.

Then for the fun rooty descent....managed to hang on to Chris' wheel, just, so I must have been going at a good pace. Jumped those few drops...still on Chris' wheel. Leaned into those greasy corners and didn't panic when the bike wobbled under me...just dabbed and pushed on.

And I'm smiling and giggling!

Rode the steps...and the next, steeper, ones (opted out of riding the concrete steps of doom, but I wouldn't usually ride them anyhow).

It's all starting to come together. Now that I'm having fun, I'm starting to go a bit quicker too and keeping up with Chris, just.

Then it dawned on me...macaroni cheese...when I'm feeling under the weather, I like a big bowl of macaroni cheese to cheer myself up. This ride is my macaroni cheese ride. It's the ride I do that reminds me that I can ride a bike and that I can ride up hills and back down again and that I can do it quickly as long as I'm having fun.

I've got lots of bike plans for this year, so, I think I need a few more macaroni cheese rides of just having fun and messing about and then hopefully, I'll be back to my old self and maybe some of that fun will get my legs back into shape too!

Jac
x

Ride with the fast girls

I saw a tweet from a random girl I'd never met about a ladies' ride she was organising, open to all, described as "easy paced". Despite being very aware that I'm woefully unfit at the moment, I decided to give it a try. I've been muchly lamenting of late a lack of fun, comparably-paced ride buddies, (the Boyf being too fast, the female friends mostly wanting to just cycle to the pub) and here was a great chance to change that. And if my legs protested too much at the unaccustomed effort I could always find the nearest station.

It was set to be a freezing (1-4 oC day) but crisp and clear and so I piled on the layers and set off, feeling keen and eager.

The turnout was surprisingly good for such a freezing December day - 14 ladies - with a wide range of riders with 8 different passports between us, with standards varying from the insanely good to the very good. Oh, and me. Ah.

No matter. The route was flat (phew) scenic (many sighs with happiness at the sight of sunshine on the Thames) and there was much interesting and varied chatter to distract me from the soreness of legs and the rasping lungs. A brief coffee stop to warm us on our way to the pub at an absolutely glorious spot complete with good bike storage. Genius.


By the time we got back to Richmond Park, 65 miles in (by far the longest distance I've ridden since the Marmotte in July) I was feeling the soreness and the tiredness and found myself dropped on the first hill. The girls waited, gently chivvied me back onto the group and then towed me all the way home. Who knew that I'd one day find myself getting a tow from a Dutch pro rider eh?

Beyond the flim flam

Finally we're beyond the Autumnal flim flam. The weather isn't cheating any more. It looks cold out. It is cold out. It's long tights and winter boots and proper gloves. All the way through until Spring. No more getting caught out with chilly digits as you chanced fingerless gloves, no more slow cooking in a winter jersey on a wrongfully hot November day. Wrap up. Ride.

Vikki

Cold feet

It's getting cold now. And because cyclists' feet are stuck in a fixed position, they get cold in a way that runners' feet never do. To add to the fun, most cycling shoes are designed with vents, to allow a refreshing breeze on a summer's day to cool the foot. Cooling the foot is not, however, what most people would wish for at this time of year.

To counter Freezing Feet syndrome, most cyclists use a combination of

• multiple pairs of socks
• toe warmers / overshoes (neoprene boots that go over the shoes)
• oversocks (socks that go over the shoes)

But if you have rubbish circulation, despite all of the above, you'll probably get cold feet anyway. Properly cold feet that send spikes of pain through your feet when you press on the pedals. Not fun. So I've looked into the various new bits of technology that promise increased warmth, even when it's wet.

Re-chargeable heated insoles, either with clunky ankle battery which make it look like you're out on parole (about £25) or cleverly-hidden-battery-in-insole (£100)

One-use chemical heat pads look like tea bags you stick to your socks. Cheapish (about a pound a go if you buy in bulk) but no friend of the environment and not that realistic an option for the to/from work scenario.

This winter, due to a bargain in the sales, I'm trying winter boots. Behold (right) their clunky selves. I grant you, they're not objects of beauty, but despite their lack of visual appeal, they do make up for it in the warmth factor. I haven't yet tested their (advertised) waterproof ability. I suspect, that as with all keeping-feet-dry gear, there is the main unavoidable issue of the big hole for a leg, which then lets water into the foot. But if they're warm-er and dry-er than usual, that's enough for me. AND I won't spend 10 minutes in the morning running up and down stairs looking for extra pairs of socks / overshoes and muttering about being late.

Puncture fairy

It's been a while since I had a visit from the puncture fairy. Several months, definitely. But I pride myself on being competent at changing tyres (if nothing else, mechanically) and always carry with me the necessary stuff. So last night when I got a puncture shortly after I left work at 7pm, cross and tired, I calmly walked to the nearest bus stop so I could see what I was doing and set to work.

I removed the gubbins from the saddle bag. I removed the light from the handlebars. I turned the bike upside down. I loosened the brakes. I took the wheel out. I applied tyre lever No.1. I then attempted to get in tyre lever No. 2. Try as I might (and there were a LOT of tries), I could not get the second lever in anywhere other than next to No.1. And when I tried to move it along, to loosen the tyre from the rim, it was absolutely jammed solid. My combined hand / arm strength was no match for this tyre. After 10 minutes of rapidly improving swearwords, I had to admit defeat, walk to the station, get the train and walk home.

Cold

Late for supper

Late for my longed-for glass of wine

And with a huge dent in my pride.

This weekend the boyf shall be removing the old tyres and I shall be applying new ones, ones that I am able to actually remove / apply myself.

EDIT : The boyf (who normally only uses his hands to remove / replace tyres) had to resort to tyre levers to get the tyres off. And he broke a lever in the process. Clearly those are stubborn tyres. I feel slightly less useless as a consequence.

The power of yoga

I started cycling as a quick means of getting to work (30 mins by bike vs a laborious 60 mins by tube). And then I found myself agreeing to cycle to Paris. Eek. This meant a brave new world of Long Rides. Training. Nutrition. And whilst I loved being able to get places under my own steam and I loved getting fit, I did not love this new world of aches and pains. Sore knees. Sore back. Sore neck. Grr.

And then one day, on Minx, I found a marvellous DVD. Yoga? I thought. Isn't this just wafting about and humming omm for emaciated women who've nothing better to do? Minx said not. So I bought the DVD. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I then stood in my living room feeling like a clumsy prat, trying to copy the moves of the surprisingly normal-looking instructor. The next day, to my surprise, I found was considerably less sore than I would usually be on a Monday (no John Wayne stride that week). And so I stuck with it, every Sunday afternoon, frequently waking up several hours later having fallen asleep on my yoga mat.

Eventually, of course, watching the same video over and over gets a little dull and I felt brave enough to attempt an actual course. And I lucked out. I started going to yoga classes taught by the absolutely awesome Naz. She's smiley, fun, enthusiastic and not at all judgemental. I forgot that I weigh about 20kg more than she does and just set about trying to be the best I can be. I come home smiling after yoga, I sleep better after yoga. and I even seem to have biceps and triceps, for the first time in years.

All this is good, of course, except that instead of it being an adjunct to my cycling, it now appeals more than cycling. Riding round the same old roads with busy, aggressive traffic in the cold and wet or an ordered, tranquil, tiring yet stress-free hour and a half in a church hall? Yoga seems to win more often than not.

I think this is partly because, despite an average of 13 hours training a week, for six months, I was still pretty mediocre at cycling. A lot of effort, pain, exhaustion and stress to be only mediocre at something is not very motivational. So I'm going to steer away from competitive cycling and focus instead on the lovely parts of cycling. The scenery, the fresh air, friends. And of course cake. Let's see how that pans out.

Jelly legs. Jelly sweets.

Accidentally picked hilliest route possible. Haribo stop needed., a photo by jumbly on Flickr.

I've been broken the last little while. Marathon training led to some properly mangled leg muscles. Physio one said rest, nobody likes to hear that so a second opinion was sought. Physio two said...... rest! The marathon never got run.

Some of September and all of October was spent in a mire of self pity and biscuits. November sees the start of the steady job of getting back some fitness.

It was gloriously sunny today so I headed out on the bike. I accidentally picked the hilliest route possible. A Haribo stop was needed part way round. Home with another 20 miles in the bank. Jelly sweets had helped, but I got off the bike at the back door with jelly legs. And, a huge grin. A perfect ride.

There's a rat in the suburbs

Recently a Kiwi friend was over in the UK for business and, in return for curry house recommendations, he offered to take back some Christmas pressies for family & friends in his suitcase. The only catch was that said presents would need to be at his hotel in Heathrow by Wednesday. So after a mad run about the shops to acquire and wrap said presents (it being quite early for Christmas-present-acquiring, even for organised control freaks like me), I set off after work to cycle to Heathrow. It's not far, I thought. And the exercise will do me good. Except that the normal 15 minute journey by taxi down the A4/M4 isn't generally something people want to attempt by bike.

My Garmin offered two routing options: Car (ie via M4) or Bike (via every side road in West London). It does not, sadly, offer a "Reasonably Direct but Not Hellish Scary" option. I opted for the detour as I didn't fancy dicing with death and instead suffered miles and miles of endless kebab shops, horrible council estates, angry mini cabs and series of traffic lights. And lo, eventually, I arrived at the posh hotel, ran the gauntlet of the condescending concierge in my lycra and then contemplated my options.

By this stage it was 8pm. I was hungry, more than 15 miles from home, and could not face another Endless Detour of Grim Suburbs. Sod You, Garmin, I said, as I set off down the A4, I shall find my own (Direct) path home. As the traffic increased and sped up, I retreated onto the pavement. I turned my front light on to full beam just in time to illuminate an enormous rat, just in front of me, at which I squealed like a girl and nearly fell off. In an attempt to repel further rodents, I sang loudly. It didn't work. Apparently rats they do not fear the power of Dolly Parton songs.

Eventually, with a couple of duff dead end turns and some lucky recognising of place names, I made it home and inhaled half the fridge. You can tell it's been a while since I've been cycling regularly. Schoolgirl errors 1) to not check maps BEFORE you set out and 2) not take enough food for all eventualities. Gah. More cycling required.

Ouch!

On Saturday, I headed down to Innerleithen with Katie and Gen to remind ourselves how to ride scary stuff after months of cross country and cyclocross (we're all doing the Innerleithen Night and Day Enduro in November). I also wanted to get out on my new bike and give it a proper test run (as I was packing it into the van, Chris reminded me that "it's not the Remedy, remember, that bike could get you into trouble"...yeah, yeah).

We hadn't realised it was an uplift day, so whilst all the big boys loaded their big bikes onto the uplift lorry, we pedaled and pushed our less big bikes up to the top (funnily enough, nobody on the uplift was actually going right up to the top, so we had that bit to ourselves).

It was quite late in the day when we started, so we did 2 runs of trails which were used for the DH Enduro earlier in the year, then we decided to have a last whizz down one of the less techy DH trails (the wee notice at the top promised swoopy, bermy, doubles and tabletops and none of the big drops mentioned on the other notices and it would take us to the top of Cadonbank for a final scoot back to the carpark).

I set off first, with Katie and Gen close behind whooping and hollering. I knew I was going quite fast when I had to stop to wait for them to catch up at one of the intersections, but it was all hanging together quite nicely and I was having great fun.

I popped over one of the wee jumps, cheerily saying hello to the group of boys standing by the side of the trail. Then things got really fast.

Still in control.

Faster still.

Round that berm...phew, that was close.

Over that wee jump.... woohoo

A bit faster...

Down the drop...

SMACK!

On the ground, bike on top of me, lots of blood pouring out of my mouth.

Katie appeared a few seconds later and Gen a few seconds after her and they quickly moved my bike from on top of me and helped me sit up.

Uh oh...the worried faces didn't look good.

Lots of tissues pulled out of bags and handed to me to try to stop the blood.

It was starting to get dark, so we needed to get off the hill. Gen took my bike, Katie took my Camelback and I stood up, then sat back down again.

Uh oh...I'm not going to be able to drive home....I feel really beat up and dizzy.

A quick phone call to Chris to ask him to drive down to pick us up and then a very slow walk back down the hill.

By the time we got back to the carpark, it was properly dusk, I was feeling sick, dizzy and very sore, my mouth was still bleeding and my teeth really hurt.

Chris arrived, helped Katie and Gen pack their bikes into our car and quickly explained how the car worked and then we headed off to A&E.

I must have looked pretty awful as I tried to tell the triage nurse what had happened (covered in mud and blood, shaking, hobbling and crying in that "I think this might be bad" sort of way).

An hour and a bit later, nothing broken, lots of massive bruising, slightly concussed, pretty woosy and a very busted up lip (I not only split my lip open, but I cleverly managed to bite it too) I'm packed off home with instructions for Chris not to leave me alone...just in case.

So now, I feel like I've been in a massive crash. Everything aches, it hurts to move, it hurts to breath and it hurts to cough. My lip is so swollen I can't eat unless it's chopped into very small pieces and I can only drink through a straw and my teeth feel like something's not quite right.

I know it'll all get better soon, but at the moment I feel very sorry for myself.

I have learned from all of this though....if I'm going to be pushing myself on DH trails, I really should wear a full face helmet rather than my xc helmet. It wouldn't have stopped me crashing and I'd probably still have bitten my lip, but I wouldn't have split my lip and probably wouldn't have got concussion.

I also learned that I have some very good friends who know what to do in a bad situation...thanks guys!

On the plus side, it proves I was pushing my limits apparently! Maybe I'll just do it a wee bit more carefully next time.

Jac
x (except I can't pull a kissing face at the moment)

Relentless

Well, it was quite a weekend....quite a wet weekend that is!

Chris and I arrived in Fort Bill on Saturday morning to the sound of rain pattering on the roof of the van. We set up camp alongside some friends, diverted the river that was flowing through the car park and our pit area, signed on, had a bite of food and then before we knew it it was 11.45 and I was lining up on the start line.

We had a vague race strategy to allow us both to get some riding in and get some rest too, but as they say, the best laid plans....

It rained and rained and then rained a wee bit heavier. Luckily it wasn't cold, but the rain and the gritty mud started to take their toll very quickly. Brake pads were wearing out in 2 laps; because we were doing double laps, kit was only wearable for a couple of laps (the wet and mud and grit meant that you had to change whenever you weren't riding) and the gazebo leaked, badly. A friend who was soloing had to pull out because he couldn't afford to go through any more brake pads!

Then it got dark and the rain got heavier.

After my second night-time lap, I went back to the van to tell Chris that I was mutinying only to find him curled up asleep! I took that as a sign, so I promptly went off to get some hot food and a hot chocolate before curling up for a few hours, fully intending to head back out before midnight.

Unfortunately the rain got heavier and the wind picked up, so there wasn't very much to entice me back out on my bike, so I curled up in my sleeping bag and listened to the weather raging outside.

Just before dawn, it calmed down a little bit but our pit was completely destroyed by the wind, so we had to pack everything up. What made matters worse, I had left both my waterproof jackets and my waterproof shorts hanging over the back of a chair in the gazebo...the chair had blown over and my things were lying in the stream which was running through our pit again. Great!

But it was daylight and there were still several hours to go before it was finished, so I decided I might as well put some soggy kit back on and get out on my bike again rather than just hanging around a wet car park waiting for friends to finish. Luckily, that made Chris feel guilty, so he was there at the transition area to take over when I got back in.

Just as the event was drawing to a close, the rain stopped and the cloud started to lift, so we were finally able to get a glimpse of Aonach Mor.

It was probably my least energetic 24 hour race. We actually did a 9 hour race on Saturday, hung about for 12 hours overnight, then did a 3 hour race on Sunday morning - quite a civilised way to do a 24 hour race if you ask me! Despite the terrible weather and bike destroying grit I think we ended up having a bit of fun and we managed to win our category too, which was an added bonus.

The clean up exercise is still going on though, but hopefully we'll get it all sorted out before I head out for what promises to be a very muddy ride at Innerleithen on Saturday!

Jac
x

It could all end in tears

There aren't any Scottish cross races on this weekend, so Chris and I had a wee think about what else we could do to keep us out of trouble and somehow settled on riding at Relentless 24. Since neither of us could take Monday off work, we've decided to do it as a pair.

The only time Chris and I have raced together as a pair was in Portugal last year at the Geo-Raid. Although it didn't end in divorce, it wasn't our most successful race, so hopefully this weekend will be better.

We'll certainly not have the 30c heat we had in Portugal to contend with...it was a balmy 10c here in Edinburgh today, so I suspect it'll be a bit nippier in the middle of the night up at Fort Bill.

The brioche and pasta's been bought, the bags are packed (with a few extra layers and waterproofs for good measure) and the lights are charged, so it looks like we're definitely doing it! In fact, I can hear tyres being pumped up downstairs as I type, so I think it's pretty definite.

I'm not quite sure how we'll get on, but as long as Chris doesn't eat all my brioche, I'm sure we'll be fine!

Jac
x

It Must Be Time for Cross

I'm not sure what it's like further south, but up here in Scotland, the leaves have well and truly turned and they're starting to lie in nice crisp piles on the trails. The chessies are falling off the trees ready for collecting.

It's just a tad too cold to leave the house in the morning without armwarmers (and a spare base layer just in case). And chat has moved from big rides out in the hills to cross.

So I've had to dust off my cross skills over the last few weeks and remember how to forget that it's a tad scary hurtling down a hill on drops with brakes that just might not stop you in time before you hit that tree. But oh, it' fast and it's fun!

The first race in the SCX series is next Sunday and I'm hoping to see a few new girly faces on the start line this year. I can't guarantee the weather, but I can guarantee it'll be fast and furious, muddy and cold and it'll hurt. There might even be tears, but we'll love it!

See you there?

Jac
x

Cycling adventures of a small kind.

I'd heard (at length) before my arrival about my goddaughter's new bike. "It's purple, Livvy" (said with great excitement) and so a plan was struck for a bike trip during my next visit. Fortunately her mother had not simply bought the nearest purple bike but had invested in an islabike, which are designed to have gears and levers than small hands can use and, crucially, don't weigh the same as a large truck, unlike lots of kids bikes.

We set off for the playpark, 4 miles away, with mum slightly handicapped by the wriggling weight of 3 year old sister. It transpires that even on a good kid's bike, 4 miles is a long old way for a six year old and there was a certain amount of "I CAN'T" and "MY LEGS HURT" to contend with.

I resisted adopting my mother's stance of bracing reminders to "BUCK UP" and instead we invented mini-races to the next tree / signpost / cow, cheered her along with loud and tuneless renditions of every song we could remember and invested in a bit of good old-fashioned bribery (kids will do almost anything for a mini egg, it seems). I am proud too that I eventually managed to persuade her that going downhill at a good speed is the reward for the uphill and she released the brakes enough to get up to a slightly alarmingly wobbling 12mph.

Once at the playpark I rediscovered the joys of swings, got my bum stuck in unflattering fashion on the slide, and found all this yoga means I can finally do the monkey bars. Go me. (oh yes and the kids had fun too...).

We set off home through heavy showers (cue choruses of all the rain-related songs we know) and then saw the most spectacular rainbow (more songs) and finally we got back for well-earned tea and cake. I didn't let on that this is one of the biggest rides I've done in weeks. Oops. Must Ride More.

Need some inspiration?

I don't know about you, but I've got quite a few cycling heroes. They range from friends who've ridden in amazing places to friends who've overcome things and carried on riding to proper famous people who just really kick bottom on a bike.

Then about a month and a half ago, a new hero appeared on my radar.

I was making plans to head over to Ireland for the Singlespeed World Champs (more of which another day) and a friend of mine dropped me an e-mail to say that Dervla Murphy lived really near where the race was and wouldn't it be great if we could meet her?

Well, I have to fess up, I didn't know who Dervla Murphy was, so I started doing a wee bit of research before I replied to Jacquie. Oh my! Am I glad I started to investigate!

For those of you who don't know, Dervla is an 80-odd year old Irish lady who, in the 60's when she was in her early 30's, decided to cycle from Ireland to India...on her own...on a singlespeed (she took the gears off because of concerns about being able to get replacement parts).

Then she wrote a book about it and the adventures she had along the way called Full Tilt; Ireland to India with a Bicycle. I won't give the story away, but suffice to say, it is an epic tale and is more than just a little bit inspiring!

Dervla has since gone on lots more cycling adventures to all sorts of places like Cuba, South Africa and Russia (in her 70's!) and has written about her trips.

So, feeling duely awestruck, I replied to Jacquie saying, yes, it would be amazing if we were able to meet Dervla whilst we were in Ireland and I volunteered to contact her publishers to find out if it was possible.

I really didn't expect any response at all, but within 24 hours, I got an e-mail back saying that Dervla would be around on the 25th and 26th of August if either of those dates suited.

So on Friday the 26th Jacquie and I took a roadtrip through County Waterford to meet up with Dervla. We were like a pair of giggly little girls as we went to the address we'd been given to find that not only had Dervla agreed to meet us, but she'd invited us to her home!

I'm not quite sure if Dervla knew what had hit her when Jacquie and I turned up (we're about as opposite as two Jac's can be, but somehow it works), but she treated us like two old friends.

Try as I might to act cool and not like an awestruck fan, I was desperate to find out some things about her riding experiences. So I asked whether, at 82, she still manages to get out on her bike....Not really, after a hip replacement, it's a bit difficult to get on the bike, so she's on the lookout for a step-through frame to get going again. She does however swim in the local river every morning...more than I'm brave enough to do at less than half her age!

Hearing Dervla speak so passionately about experiencing and exploring different places by bicycle was truely inspirational and the fact that she does it with a fraction of the fuss I make about a 24 hour race (forget your high tech lycra shorts and jerseys (sorry Debbie!) try a pair of gabardine slacks, a Viyella shirt and woollen undies!) made me appreciate that riding a bike shouldn't be a complicated thing. Dervla was never a racer, she was never a sponsored rider, she didn't do tonnes of training, she was, and still is, a regular girl who just gets out there and rides her bike to see places and things and have fun.

I think Dervla is proof that we girls really can do anything we set our minds to on a bike, whether it's riding the trails in the woods that we've always shied away from or riding across that country we've always fancied, any of us can do it if we really want to. I know I've now got lots of plans to just do those rides I've thought might be too challenging - Thank you Granny Dervla!

Please read her books (Full Tilt is a great place to start) and let me know what challenges she inspires you to have a go at!

Jac
x

Cycletta Bound

Today the first of the Cycletta sportives takes place. I'm a bit gutted that I can't be there because no matter what theories I read about the usefulness of women-only events, my own experience is that women gain in confidence when they ride together and I'd love to see how it goes. Happily, two Minx girls, Jayne and Amy won places to ride and are going to report back. Catch up with Jayne over at her blog, and read Amy's winning entry and thoughts leading up to today. That's her left, introducing her daughter to the joy of mountain biking.

"I am itching to play on wheels!Mountain biking holidays, daily shop, getting to work – before Baby girl my bicycle was my only mode of transport; even when 6 months pregnant I commuted 20 miles a day in London rush hour, singing Mama Cass to my bump. Baby girl has her own seat on my bike and loves going on adventures, but I don't get the chance to go on adventures of my own in quite the same way. Space and time to myself would be amazing. Other people choose spas and makeovers, but to reconnect with 'me' and make me feel oh-so-very-free I need only one thought in my mind: keep the wheels turning."

"Well, so much for my summer of training! The promise of getting out on my bike sans baby every Monday was swiftly brushed aside by the humdrum of everyday existence. Even getting in the saddle with baby hasn't happened since a jolly to Dulwich Park at the start of summer with daddy and baby in tow."

"Now with less than a week to go, I am feeling under prepared for the 40k ride organised by Cycletta. I am, however, incredibly excited and looking forward to the scenery and the feeling of freedom as I pedal around the circuit. No baby, no work, no mobile phone (well, in my bag, just in case!)...it’s going to be bliss!"

"Is this it??? It this the end of summer? Trying to get set for a ride today made me feel like winter is upon us. We didn't go far, but just enjoyed being in the saddle. Indigo loves cycling - she throws her arms in the air when we go fast down hills and sometimes puts her hands back so that with each rotation her little puddies hit your knees. This results in no end of giggles."

one day...

I know it seems like it was only yesterday, but Minx has been around for over seven years now. And we have some customers (although that seems like the wrong word), who have been with us since the beginning. We get to chatting over swapsies emails, (really if there were a way to perfect virtual coffee no one would get any work done around here), and I get to know what they like to wear, I even have them in mind when I'm buying certain things for the range. And I always notice (hoping things are OK), when it's been a while - as it had with Lesley (that's her, left, on the Mary Townley Loop) when her email popped up in the inbox yesterday. She wanted to know if she might guest blog and attached a piece for me to read. Here it is:

Funny old thing life. You start the year positively enough (with a walk up Cross Fell with my husband in my case), full of plans, rides to be done, adventures to be had and this year there’s going to be absolutely no excuses – life’s too short and all that.

Then the unthinkable happens, what should have been a straightforward visit to the breast clinic a few days later turned out to be not so straightforward. You know it’s bad news by the atmosphere in the consulting room but that doesn’t stop the belief that it cannot possibly be you they’re talking about, it’s not real, it’s not happening now and it’s certainly not happening to me….it’s gone so quiet and every one’s looking at me….I’m not going to cry…really I’m not. …

A few weeks and one mastectomy later I’ve got the biggest grin on my face and you want to know why? I’ve just been told that the cancer has not spread - no further treatment required and from that moment on I have considered myself one of the luckiest people alive, because essentially I’ve just been given the rest of my life back . You know that thing you call, ‘your life’, well I didn’t realise it but I had been taking mine for granted. I’ve lived with the assumption that I would automatically live the life I want to, till I’m old and wrinkly and would shuttle off when I’m good and ready thank you.

I love the outdoors, always have done. Over the years I’ve walked, rock climbed, back packed, canoed , but it’s cycling that has grown to be my main love and it’s that, that has helped keep me going through this whole experience. During what I can only call ‘very dark moments’, when I didn’t know how long my future would be I would revisit my most memorable rides in my head: bowling along the ‘mad, little road’ between Ullapool and Lochinver with the smell of gorse in the air, making it to Cape Wrath (in the sunshine too), conquering Ventoux, riding the Mary Townley loop with old friends, my favourite local ride up the Chase …. the list goes on. But it isn’t just reliving memories that has kept me together, the support from my family and friends has been amazingly positive, quite over whelming in fact. I’ve had cards, letters, text messages, phone calls, flowers and friends have even given up rides to walk with me.

I have been so impatient to start riding again and whilst undergoing ‘reconstruction works’ the one question I have consistently asked my consultant is ‘When can I get back on my bike?’. Eventually, after promising I would be really careful she gave me the green light. That first ride was really special – only 11 miles which left me unbelievably tired but it gave me back the hope that my life was going to return to normal and gradually it is.

Although it won’t be the ‘normal’ it was before. Now, I’m just an average rider, not the fastest or the slowest, I don’t even enter races but I still set myself challenges, I like to feel tired at the end of a ride and I like to be fit. I now look forward to going out and making it hurt, to pushing myself harder than I’ve ever done, to getting wet ,muddy, cold, hot, sweaty, cut and grazed, blown all over the road, because if I’m feeling those things that means I am most definitely alive.

There’s going to be no more ‘I’ll do that one day….’ All my ‘one day’ dreams are now in the planning, they’re getting dates set against them, in the not too distant future I’ll actually be doing them. Because as I’ve recently learnt, shit can indeed happen and sometimes that means we might not be around when ‘one day’ arrives, I’m not going to risk that happening to me again.

Good luck with your ‘one day’ plans.

Footnote: You might be interested to know that I am only 46, I’ve never smoked, don’t drink , am reasonably fit and there’s no history of breast cancer in my family. What made me go to my GP was (1) a husband who kept on at me to go and (2) a very small area of eczema on my breast (I actually went along expecting to be referred to a dermatologist). I had no lumps at all but as it turned out I did have breast cancer. So if you notice any changes in your breasts not just lumps, don’t hesitate, go straight to your GP.

utopia

i went to basel last weekend for a spot of black forest riding. once the (hot and hard but ultimately worthwhile) riding was done i got to spend a day indulging in a spot of what i love doing most in unfamiliar cities: aimless wandering.

aside from the fact that it's a beautiful place full of old churches and new paint, basel is also, like many places on the continent, absolutely bike friendly. trams and bikes rule the city centre, cars happily give way to cyclists and pedestrians, and it is almost impossible to get lost on a bike thanks to the right signs, in the right places. people were riding bareheaded and gloveless on an amazing array of bikes and, because it was relentlessly hot, simply walking up the hills before hopping back on at the top and continuing on their way.

on sunday, the utility traffic was joined by 'serious' sports riders; mountain bikers with helmets jammed in backpacks as they headed out of the city for the hills in the morning, road riders unapologetically sweat-stained and tired-looking as they pedalled home in the evening sun after their races and rides, a few even with numbers still pinned to their jerseys underneath their musettes.

a good place to be a cyclist. when will uk cities be like this?









j.

Trans Wales Mk 6

It was my 6th Trans Wales and the last one. Cue sobs and violins. This time, I was going with my fiance to have a holiday. We were racing solo but planned to ride together. We are almost exactly the same pace.

The week was a delight. There were 180 riders and I can honestly say I had a proper conversation with all of them. There were people from Nepal, Belgium, Spain, America and 11 other countries. Matt Page was racing. There were speedy riders, slow riders, holidaying riders, racing riders. It was Wales. Mud, rain, sun, hills, sheep. It was perfect.

Andy and I took the days super steady and completely turned ourselves inside out on the 'special stage' time trials. We collapsed after each one (there were 7 in the 8 days of riding, including the prologue) in a heap of giggles, sweat and adrenaline-fuelled exhaustion. For the first three there was nothing between us. Andy had me by half a second, then I pulled back by 2 seconds... and so on. It became the most important race for us and received special mention by the commentary team after each stage! The fact that the solo women's race was equally as tight was not nearly as exciting.

Unfortunately, Andy fell off a cliff with two days to go. Not literally. His lack of riding caught up with him and he crawled round the last few days leaving me to scream ahead and take a convincing win! I have yet to decide what my prize should be. Bike washing duties for a month perhaps?

The Trans Wales (RIP) was a beautiful event and I always come away thinking that it is the one event which really captures what mountain biking is all about for me. It's fun riding your bike fast, but it's also fun JRA (just riding along) chatting to folk and enjoying the scenery. We took over 200 photos during the week and ate more cake than I dare to think about. My jeans are tight :-(

So, the Trans Wales will return in a different format. We hope. I'll keep badgering Mike Wilkens until it does. But now it's cyclocross time as we get ready for the Three Peaks (where I don't expect I'll be taking many photos at all!)

F

nihon go

I've been learning Japanese. Taking lessons from Emma, a fellow bicycle rider. Somehow we have now cooked up a crazy plan to ride to Japan and test out my new linguistic skills. We're at the VERY early planning stages at the moment. Still staring at the map and wondering if bandits or communists are easier to deal with. And we're certainly not going until I've learned to order more food than a plate of tuna sashimi with some sea urchin - I'll be hungrier than that when we get there.

But - all tips on super, long distance adventuring are welcome.

Vikki

Riding and Spectating

After my epic failed plan to spectate at the boyf's race down in Tenterden, I decided to do it properly for his race down in Brenchley this time : get lift out & back and ride round in the opposite direction during the race, thus ensuring regular spectacting at race progress and plenty of opportunities to hand over bottles and shout helpful remarks etc.
We set off at a suitably unholy hour for a Sunday morning and found the race HQ. I then stood around looking like a spare part whilst various blokes strip changed in the car park and pinned on their numbers (me trying to avert my eyes demurely all the while). They set off behind the race car and I set off on my bike which had decided to make all sorts of clanking horrible gear-clicky noises (umn... can you tell I'm not good at this mechanics stuff?).

I rode for a couple of miles to the circuit while my bike randomly changed gears and I rued the day that I never signed up for the (free) Evans Basic Mechanic evenings. At the first corner a nice Dulwich Paragon chap said he'd have a look so I looked on admiringly whilst he turned the barrel adjuster and managed to calm the clunking.

So we set off for the first lap together, chatting all the while about cycling adventures and the gorgeous sunshine. And WHOOSH the bunch came past. The boyf wasn't in the break but at the front of the bunch and still was smiling. We rode on and about 5 miles later, CRUNCH. My rear derailleur hanger snapped, the derailleur went crunch into the wheel and I stopped, somewhat abruptly. Fortunately we'd been chatting and I hadn't been riding hard so I managed to stop without damaging the wheel.

Mr Dulwich then gallantly said "I'll push you back to the HQ" and, thinking that it was a flat course, I accepted with a very very grateful flood of thank yous. It turned out, of course, that the part of the course that we had ridden was the flat bit. And the remainder bit was, umn, not. It transpires that pushing someone who's 65kg up hill when you're 67kg is pretty goddam hard work.

We stopped briefly over the brow of one of the hills so I could hand over a bottle to the boyf and then continued on to the first corner so I could watch the rest of the race. I chatted to the marshalls, shouted, cheered, jigged up and down and he came 11th. Hurrah. So at least one of us had a good day. I just had an expensive day. New rear hanger, new rear derailleur. And some ibroprufen for the sore elbow I landed on. I should probably also be sending some to Mr Dulwich who'll have some sore quads tonight I imagine.