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CowHen
Finished the 9 counties audax in around 30 hours elapsed at the weekend, good day out, mostly enjoyed, still plenty of things that could be improved.
Sleep deprived ride report below:
9 counties you say, pfft that won't take too long right? Sure, sure... Just set off at 6am into some steep climbs before taking on 100 miles of rolling countryside and the baying frenzy of sunny Saturday motorists. Don't forget your receipts though. What's that, the route turns north... Ah but haven't we been dealing with a cross head wind, saddle up and enjoy the battering of a pure headwind for a good 60 miles - real cyclists have café stops but you are only worthy of an overpriced and underwhelming sandwich, and the nauseatingly complicated task of assembling a meal deal alludes you. Receipt! Roll on into the headwind forming brief and calculating alliances with other riders to hide from the winds might, all the while dodging the road kill you hope not to emulate. The flallands end, pointing west now the pace picks up, choppers buzz overhead, optimism briefly overwhelms you before a shower of screen wash and the warm blazing orb you've chased all days dips below the horizon and an icey chill bites. No matter, you've almost made it home before night fall, it will soon be over. The control presents an illusory safe haven, alas your race is not run and with a polite farewell you're cast back out into the wintery night. Another gratuitous climb and a rambling pep talk, we don't need to sleep, we know what we're doing. Mingle with spirited revellers "you're a tosser" , must get that sacred receipt and escape once more into the frozen wastes. Stay up right, keep moving, please stop moaning about the cold - there's a golden arches out there somewhere, sanctuary. Closed, shit. Life draining from frozen limbs, slumped over the world fades to grey...zzz. Ten minutes on and the engine grumbles back to life; coffee, receipt and on into the dawn. Freezing fog blankets the land, yet the promise of sun rise lifts the nights sluggish pace. Hope rises over the Humber bridge with 70 miles tick down, a solo mission for the last 8 hours, but wait a chance meeting and one last riders alliance is formed. Cruising south with a comforting tail wind, just might make it. Finally a McD's and one last hallowed receipt. Just 40 miles left, potholes, climbs and motorists saap the legs but the alliance holds firm. Arrivée.