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On the way hone from the chiltern hundred. 105 miles of relentless short sharp climbs. Having not been riding much recently and having not slept (a mix of nerves and excitement I think... Yes, lame I know), I struggled at the start. However after about 30 miles settled into a good rhythm and regained by climbing legs of yore. Countered the lack of sleep through the consumption of more energy products than I've got through in a while. My teeth now feel like they're going to fall out, but also means I managed a respectable time of 6.15ish
Mega props to the organisers, verulam cc, for superb feed stations, signage and general sorting of stuff. It was a beautiful route and a great day for it. Dragon ride next weekend... Oh dear.
Will sort out strava links later so that noone can look at it
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^^ looks like a tough ride Jim - chapeau!
Three rides for me this weekend.
Firstly, I rode to Brighton on Friday with my son (jago, who is 10). Beautiful weather conspiring with a flukey failure to get lost, resulted in a bona fide win of a ride. The highlight of which was me talking J through the ascent of Ditchling by pretending to be Froome helping Sideburns through a moment of difficulty in the Alps. Sharing a molten brownie with a red-faced, proud 10 year old at the top was mos def a Hallmark moment to tuck into the Dad portfolio.
Second was a 45 minute ride on Saturday, which was having to replace a proper ride because I had a wedding to be drunk at later on. Decided to have a crack at a Strava loop someone had set up over shooter's hill and back round via Rochester way. I managed to take a minute and a half out of the kom (boast post tosser), which was quite nice.
Thirdly, Family spin of 30 miles round London today, which took in lunch at Capitan Corelli's in Battersea. For those not in the know Corelli's is the most awesome, cheap, weird, authentic Italian restaurant I know in London. Full of odd looking misfits shouting/singing at each other in Italian.
The most singular bit of knowledge that I gained today is that when the sun comes out, if you see a Boris bike you should take immediate evasive action. This may sound hyperbolic, but I have honestly NEVER seen such terrible, scary cycling as I saw The Borisers doing today. I was nearly taken out by two guys RLJing as I crossed on the green man in clear view, I had to grab my son and pull him out of the path of a woman swerving across the entire width of a one way road going the wrong way, looking behind her, while talking on a mobile! Fucking cyclists, I'm bidding on a hummvee as I type and filling out a subscription to the Daily mail.
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Forgoing the turbo trainer for today, I went out for a real ride. 50 mile route to Lindfield to meet a mate. I dropped off a book to him that I thought he'd enjoy, and he gave me a different book back. We had chips and cake and ginger beer in the sun and it was great. Then I rode 51 miles back. The bits around Lindfield are slightly lumpy and at around mile 60 the gradient ramped up a bit on a short hill. I did a quick shoulder check, and seeing no cars, went for a cheeky zigzag to the top. I rethought this sharpish when I heard a horn blaring behind and moved back to secondary. A chap in a blue micra pulls up beside me, about 3cm from my right elbow. His girlfriend is in the passenger seat. A small child is in the back. He's shouting something in a high pitched voice. "I'm sorry", I tell him, through the open window, still climbing, concentrating on keeping my front wheel straight so it doesn't go into either the car or the hedge on the left. He is not placated. He shouts again, even more highly pitched. His girlfriend joins in. "I'm sorry", I say again, this time adding an insouciant shrug. He stamps on the accelerator and guns it away. I'm not sure which of the three to feel most sorry for. I get my own back on him by being extra-nice to everybody I see. A smile and a wave for the lady audaxer. A cheery "good evening" for the three girls on horses. A "hello!" to the three children following their mum like a row of ducklings, all four on mountain bikes. A stop on the A264 to offer help to a chap with a stuck seatpost. I end up feeling even more cheerful than when I left. I go through a wood that smells of garlic. I see a sign advertising "mini Diggers"! I go over a bridge that crosses the "river Mole"!
At Chipstead my mood turns as I think of the last climb of the day, Rectory Road. The one I liked to use as my final training hill whenever I returned from a ride in Surrey. As I approach it, I feel the need to give myself a pep talk. "Look. Boff. Remember. You've done this hill before. About a million times. You know it. You know every corner, every bump, every level, and every landmark on it. Don't be afraid of it now. You can do this. It's been a year, and yes, last time you had a smaller chainring, and yes, every other time you've done it, it's been after 40 miles, not 90. But you're stronger now, and everything is going to be fine so long as you just keep pushing, don't give up. Smooth circles. Keep pushing." After a few minutes of this, I become slightly confused. "Wait, isn't this the top of the climb?" It turns out that not only can I do it, even after 90 miles, but that it's no longer the beast I thought it was. In that instant, Surrey suddenly shrinks, the way your hometown did when you first returned as an adult after you left to grow up without your parents.
An angry woman beeps at me as I pick my way through potholes in Carshalton. I jump out of my skin but don't waver from my line. She overtakes on the other side of the road, brake lights shining all the while. Later I see her further down the road. Her brake lights are still on. I feel sorry for her car. I try to cheer myself up by being nice to other people, but I'm getting near London now so everybody is grumpy. I smile at, and am ignored by, the man having a fight with his jumper, the loved-up couple who jump into the road in front of me, the woman walking her dog, the family with the pram. I smile at the three teenage girls who jump into the road in front of me. They swear at me in return. All the while I remember the sun over Epsom, the garlic in the woods, the smiles out in the lanes, and the Tiramisu from earlier. I think about how much stronger I've become and smile at my cycle computer that tells me I'm getting faster at the same time. 101 miles, 4400ft of elevation today, at a respectable pace. I am content.
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Instead of doing London-Brighton-London today.. We turned off nr turners hill, and head towards Surrey, we see loads of KOTDowners and a few fireflies riders at that horrid climb before Walton.. Plenty of hills today and good tan lines, a solid 140km mile spin down some less familiar roads, three weeks til Norway.
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nice report Bothwell, strength evidence.
did a run event then the sweetest poole/ sandbanks/seafront/alum chine/ glenfurness route. gotta mention, rolling down for the run event no leg load with gf just gives me the biggest kick.
#livingthedream -
I knocked another 5mins off my 100mi time and got my sub-4 with a 3:56:08. I think I came in 8th overall.
So, thanks to yourself and tester for pointing out it was a fast course and worth having a crack at. Nothing went wrong (finally) other than arriving at the start with no warmup and 20s to go :)
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My weekend ride started on Wednesday and finished yesterday. 370 miles on the touring bike.
Wed: Sonning common (near Reading) to Portsmouth 74.3 miles with 3050ft climbing with a nice tail wind (15.7mph). Overnight ferry from Portsmouth to St Malo.
Thurs: Roll off the ferry at 8am French time into grey skies and heavy rain which persisted for 70 of the 93.6 miles to St Amand. 5000ft climbing, half cross, half headwind (15.1mph)
Fri: Overcast but dry in the am, actual sunshine in the pm. St Amand to Deauville, mostly cross wind with head wind to finish. 100.9 miles, 3750ft and 16.0mph.
Sat: Deauville to Le Harve including a ride over the Pont du Normandie bridge. 30.7 miles, 1250ft including getting lost a couple of times. 14.0mph. Normandie Express catamaran to Portsmouth (excellent service). Docked at 3:30pm then had a 68.4 mile ride in the sun (but stiff headwind) back to Sonning Common. The 3050ft and 15.8mph average felt hard with 300 recent miles in the legs, but was ultimately only disappointed when it all came to an end.
Great scenery, smooth roads, infrequent yet courteous drivers, great company and lots of great food. I can't recommend touring in France enough (even if it rains). The new green tourer felt comfortable and even handled well fully laden so really pleased with that. :-) One of my fellow tourists pics:
*France, not the UK.
Pont du Normandie
Breakfast
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I knocked another 5mins off my 100mi time and got my sub-4 with a 3:56:08. I think I came in 8th overall.
So, thanks to yourself and tester for pointing out it was a fast course and worth having a crack at. Nothing went wrong (finally) other than arriving at the start with no warmup and 20s to go :)
I'm really pleased to hear this. Congratulations!
Not warming up before a 100 isn't quite the disadvantage it might be for a 10, but having ridden another 100 the week before would not be ideal preparation in most peoples' books, so I think there's more to come in the future.
But , just for now - take it easy for a week or so.
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I'm really pleased to hear this. Congratulations!
Not warming up before a 100 isn't quite the disadvantage it might be for a 10, but having ridden another 100 the week before would not be ideal preparation in most peoples' books, so I think there's more to come in the future.
But , just for now - take it easy for a week or so.
Yeah, I know places I can improve. I can output more power for starters but I was really concentrating on my position today so my power was lower in the first three hours until boom time in the final hour. I always prefer to have a short spin before any race, even the long ones, so racing to the start line at VO2 interval pace wasn't so hot. I also didn't have time to inflate tyres and I'm still running a massive 27mm rear tyre. Anyway, it's all much of a muchness as I'm concentrating on the longer stuff now.. hence the 5hr ride home from the TT. Further 100 improvements can wait until next year, maybe.
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I go through a wood that smells of garlic.
Wild garlic?
At Chipstead my mood turns as I think of the last climb of the day, Rectory Road. The one I liked to use as my final training hill whenever I returned from a ride in Surrey. As I approach it, I feel the need to give myself a pep talk. "Look. Boff. Remember. You've done this hill before. About a million times. You know it. You know every corner, every bump, every level, and every landmark on it. Don't be afraid of it now. You can do this. It's been a year, and yes, last time you had a smaller chainring, and yes, every other time you've done it, it's been after 40 miles, not 90. But you're stronger now, and everything is going to be fine so long as you just keep pushing, don't give up. Smooth circles. Keep pushing." After a few minutes of this, I become slightly confused. "Wait, isn't this the top of the climb?" It turns out that not only can I do it, even after 90 miles, but that it's no longer the beast I thought it was. In that instant, Surrey suddenly shrinks, the way your hometown did when you first returned as an adult after you left to grow up without your parents.
[...]
I think about how much stronger I've become and smile at my cycle computer that tells me I'm getting faster at the same time. 101 miles, 4400ft of elevation today, at a respectable pace. I am content.
Well done!
Lovely report.
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Yeah, I know places I can improve. I can output more power for starters
Save your strength for the mains--they give you more bulk, more reliably.
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Wild garlic?
Yes! Fantastic smell, never been anywhere that smelled so strongly of it before. My mum used to have some growing in her garden when I was a little kid and our elderly dog would go out and eat it. Brings back good memories. And thank you! The realisation that you're better than you used to be is always a good feeling, especially when it comes at the end of a nice day.
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Not a weekend ride before. But seems the place to write up my embarrassingly slow ride around France.
Last year i rode to Paris for the end of the Tour de France, then rode along the north coast of France to get the ferry back from St Malo. It was my first time touring, and loved it but always felt like I'd only seen such a small part.
So this year I'd planned to get the ferry to St Malo, and carry on where i'd left off, and ride through France in to Spain.
A few months before leaving my friend who was meant to be riding with me decide they couldn't afford it, so i wrestled with my hatred of riding solo, and booked it anyway.As am I an idiot I'd decided building up a fixed touring bike was a great idea, so did my best scoble impression and build up a new bike with all the bike packing regalia.
Then i decided i didn't really need brakes, i think i was losing sense in reality at this point.
I managed to get the bike built the day before leaving, never having ridden the thing, but rode 15 miles round London without dying, so thought that was good enough.
Got the overnight ferry to St Malo, arriving at 8am, and head straight off for the first day of riding which was to be a 100 miler east across France. As i left the ferry it was grey and wet, which carried on for most of the holiday.
My poorly prepared route actually took in 30 miles i had done as the last miles of the previous holiday, so had depressing thoughts of how soon this tour, too, would be over and soon a distance memory.
Luckily i was soon on to new roads and i could again be excited about the unknown. Though the drizzle and abundance of sheep made it feel like Wales more than the continent.
After 90 miles, i bonked a a bit and realised i had only eaten 2 cereal bars the whole day. A sandwich and an energy later and i was feeling good again, and the sun was finally showing so the next 30 miles flew by and i was at the first campsite.
The campsite was virtually empty, only sharing it with a German couple in a campervan, so not a lot of social contact, but i wasn't completely bored by my own company yet so wasn't a bad thing. Set up my new tent which i had not bothered to test out before without failing completely. sleep.
Day 2, riding south in to central France, starting off early with tired legs. headwind. This day was thankfully super flat, but i cursed the whole 100 miles for pushing myself and not eating the day before. Every pedal stroke hurt, and i thought the same mundane things over and over again while desperately trying to be as aero as possible while averaging 12mph.
When i finally got to my destination 100 miles later, it was some random house in the middle of nowhere. I started to panic, i didn't know any campsites and i had no energy to pedal any more. A person from the house came up to the gates, and i asked in terrible French if this was, against all my fears, a campsite. To which i heard in strong northern accent "Yeah mate, have you got a booking?
Turns out it was a campsite run by a Yorkshire family, who seeing how knackered i looked promptly made me a cup of tea and let me setup my tent. I decided i needed a rest day (already) and booked two nights.
After resting at the campsite for a day i felt my legs being back to normal, so prepared to carry on, still going south against a headwind though.
I'd learnt my lesson though, and didn't go as fast as i could and concentrated on slow relaxed riding, and taking in the scenery. so this is actual touring...
My own company was boring by now, so i strapped my phone to my handlebars and starting listening to music as i rode. Hear started my weird repetition of the one Decemberist album which i pretty much listened to constantly for the new week.
The days riding was lovely, found some amazing tree-covered bridal ways and smooth roads through yellow fields. quite a bit of rain, but lovely occasional blasts of sun through the clouds.
Got to my arbitrary target of Vivonne, municipal campsite, sleep.Happily, my slow touring pace meant my legs felt fresh and ready to go the next day, and only 80 miles to do and clear target of getting to La Rochelle and the coast. The first sunny day! arm and leg warmers off, and beautiful countryside, absolutely stunning. By this point i'd perfected my food regime which mostly involved inhaling haribo constantly as i rode.
As someone who hates cakes or any sugary food this was a revelation.
I strangely loved the last 20 miles which involved riding adjacent to the motorway on an disused road which snaked along and under the highway, occasionally turning in to fields for small stretches before magically becoming tarmac again.
Arrived in beautiful La Rochelle elated and happy. Bumped in to another Englishman cycling, he'd had drug addiction problems, and no quitting he'd decided to spend 3 months riding to the pyrenees and then ride 100 cols to sweat the shite out of his system. Wished him luck as he was carrying on, and found a campsite by the sea. -
Woke up the next day to torrential rain, meh. My hoped for touristy day in La Rochelle didn't end up so well, mostly spend eating and reading.
Next day, a long day planning to ride to Bordeaux. More rain, tried to wait it out but my 11 it was obvious it wasn't going to stop, so took the tent down and set off.
Not much to say but it was wet and windy, not the best combo. My poorly made garmin route kept trying to send me on a D road which was no bicycles allowed, so had to make up a route, which ended up being longer than anticipated and ended the day 40 miles short of Bordeaux.Woke up to grey skies but no rain, and with only 40 miles to do, a very easy day. Nice route, with a short ferry journey half way.
Just past midday i was in Bordeaux. decided i deserved a hotel, so found a ibis budget, convinced them bike could be in my room and checked in.
Finally having a reason to where my one set of off-the-bike clothes, i wondered around taking terrible tourist photos on my phone and getting lost.
The Plan was to leave early after the short day before, but I really didn't want to get up after not sleeping in a proper bed for 5 days, so left the hotel at almost 10. Another rainy day. Torrential rain.
My once again poorly created route failed me, at one point getting turned away at a military site, and having to ride 10 miles back to find a road that would take me around and back on my way.
I cursed myself for deciding overshoes were heavy and a waste of space. After 90 miles i found a municipal campsite that was half-beach, and passed out hoping the next day was better.
It wasn't. Another day of torrential rain. In other circumstances this would have been my favourite day, the first 30 miles were perfectly tarmac-ed bike path travelling through the middle of forest. I was a bit distracted by my still soaked shoes and trying not to squash too many slugs, but still managed to enjoy the scenery.
After 55 miles i got to Bayonne, and since i couldn't feel my hands or feet, i had a bit of a hissy fit at the thought of camping again, so booked another cheap hotel in the hope i could dry my shoes out before the next day.
Thankfully the weather improved, and with dry shoes i set off for spain. Riding over the edge of the pryenees and in to Spain was amazing vista and sweeping roads, though i took a route with a bit more traffic than I'd have preferred. Quicker than expected i was in San Sebastian, in glorious sun. I'd wanted to stay here for a day, but my impromptu stops meant i was running a little bit later than planned so carried on.
Then i got fucked over by my own stupidity. Straight after san sebastian there was a massive climb, not a problem, and i enjoyed the challenge after a mostly flat France. But soon, i was descending from that climb down tiny country lanes, with hairpin corners, with sudden 20% descents. Riding brakless i had to lock my wheel constantly sliding round 180 turns without knowing if a car would be coming round the corner.
And suddenly i was at a dead end, the lane i was taking down the mountain had been destroyed by a landslide and impassable. Quick look at garmin showed no way round, and i would have to climb back up and find another route. I checked my back tyre; i had skidded through the tyre and was riding on inner tube. fuck.
I would have to ride back to san sebastain, i had not spare tyre and no worry to carry on. I meekly cycled, stopping to walk down descents where i knew i would have to skid until i got back to San Sebastian.
After attempting to ask in the few cycle shops in town, they had no tyres that i could conceivably use and i decided at this point i had fucked up. I'd have to get a bus to my last stop Santander, annoying as I'd looked forward to riding in Spain the most.
I spend a fun if slightly melancholy next day in San Sebastian looking round the beautiful city, and later going drinking with some German surfers who we're celebrating Munich winning some football match i didn't know about.I got the bus to Santander the next day, ready for my ferry the day after.
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Tell us about your weekend ride
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Look into my eyes wrongcog, look into the eyes, not around the eyes, into the eyes, look into my eyes and you're under.
Dude, stop smoking, you're like, partying way too hard. You're going to regret your weak willed self indulgence!
And you're back in the room.