I've done the Winter Solstice ride twice before:
here in 2007 (our first year back in England) and in 2012 when I said this about it,
So for a week the depression loomed large on the radar. I lost all will to live for a while but in true Trepid style, instead of contemplating suicide, I just took some incredible risks. I cycled to work in the ice (Tuesday - Day 22). On Wednesday after another icy ride to work and back in the evening I managed to swim 1km (Day 23) and on Thursday (Day 24) I ran the 8 mile to work, getting a lift back to the city.
On the day we had freezing fog, when I stepped out the front door and fell on my ass, I drove to work (Day 25). Some people decided they couldn't get to work!
On Day 26 I did a 200 km ride from Stockport out to Malpas, Market Drayton and back. I hadn't done more than 40 miles since Monsal Hill climb so 126 miles was an achievement. My legs were fine but my neck felt it. I didn't really care if I finished the ride or got run over by a bus but I met some lovely people whilst we were out there. The pouring rain from Goostrey (nothing good happens there) back to Stockport and the potholed roads gradually disappeared in the company of strangers, the communal joy of Christmas lights and the love shared in pointing out Jodrel Bank to people who otherwise wouldn't have known where to look for it. (it's where LBHN used to work).
At least living life on the edge (even if it was for the wrong reasons) was making me feel better. Little bits of self-treats - no matter how insane - were turning my mood around.
This year I was much more prepared for the ride and in a much better place mentally. I've been building up the miles for weeks and last week was almost like a taper as I saved myself for Bradford. Then this week I went even easier on the bike, doing only one ride to work, one walk into town to do my Christmas shopping and then a bit of pottering about the house on Saturday getting my bike ready. I was really looking forwards to my first Audax since 2014 and what seems to be turning into a 5-year tradition for me.
But this year felt different. Historically, Audax has been TSK's thing. I just come along for the craic, hanging on to his metaphorical coat-tails as he walks the walk as well as talking the talk. It's generally a social sport and I'm not a social creature. It doesn't mean I don't like the people - I love most of them - it's just I don't do the bike comparing and chitter chatter too easily and I don't know as many of the people as TSK has infiltrated the ranks over a series of much longer rides and many more years, and throughout the whole of those years, being one of the few stalwarts who make it through the winter months via a combo of DIY's and Permanent events to win the coveted RRTY award (for Riding Round The Year).
This year I felt more like I belonged. I don't remember going inside the start venue before. I know I've been there to pick Andrew up after a ride but I remember sitting out in the van, waiting for him. This year, I strolled on in, sat in the comfiest chair to take my gear off because it was my birthday and went to say hello to the organiser who we had volunteered for at the National 400 in 2016. When you spend an entire 24 hours in a team of 4 looking after 250 other people, you don't forget a face.
TSK shoved a tenner in my hands. "Mike's refunded our entry fee cos we volunteered at the 400". Sweet! "And I found a fiver!". Great, a free event. Even the petrol was covered.
Another lady sat and faffed with her brevet card and various other bits. She didn't say anything to me when we propped our bikes up next to eachother earlier and wasn't interested in talking now. I sipped my tea and stared blankly at the floor. To be honest, my brain was a bit cooked from a 5am start and I couldn't think of anything really to say that didn't sound dweebish or cocky. Soon enough her friend arrived, another lady and they started animatedly chatting together. Eventually I had enough things to keep me busy until departure time - unpacking my electronics, loading the course onto my Garmin. I took my waterproof trousers off and packed them and exchanged my fleece hat for a thinner buff.
Outside I loaded my lock on my bike and everyone wobbled out of the scout hut together.
I just pulled out in front of the other two ladies and joined a stream of men heading up the hill. I mostly got dropped which was only to be expected but I was happy that a major rush didn't come past me. Eventually the group got split in two by some changing traffic lights and we just sneaked through to riding, albeit briefly, at the back of the lead group.
A gap opened and I found myself thinking, "typical, best of the rest" as I rode at the front, wondering why no-one would come around me and take on the wind. Eventually, the second group caught us up but still everyone seemed happy to sit on at my pace. Great.
Eventually, TSK decided to change into a wet weather coat and I decided to dress down a layer as I was getting a bit warm with my fleece, body warmer and coat on.
Actually, I was a little bit hungry already too so I set about recovering a half-eaten energy bar from my last outing and demolished that.
TSK came around to do a bit on the front but hit a pothole and that sent my lip balm spilling into the road. Clearly I hadn't closed my top tube bag properly. As a fleet of riders called out to me I'd dropped something, I figured out exactly what was gone... and you don't let a decent lip balm go lightly so I put on the brakes, let the group go and turned tail to recover my lip balm. Nothing to do with having kissable beautiful lips, in Audax this is about avoiding the pain of chapped dry and bleeding lips from breathing into a sweaty buff in sub-zero temperatures whilst dehydrated beyond belief.
A few minutes later, TSK said, "leggings?" to me. I was a bit confused as usually "leggings" are the things that go over "shorts" and I knew he was already wearing his "leggings". Concluding that I was already quite damp but also still warm enough, I pedalled lightly whilst he put on his waterproof trousers, agreeing that I'd meet him after the Chelford Roundabout at the "Jesus bends". I popped into the Shell garage to dispose of my energy bar wrapper, much to the fuel tanker driver's bewilderment then passed out of the framing shop car park where my first wedding pictures were framed and over the Chelford Roundabout. I passed Jesus, dangling over the footpath of the road on his cross and duly waited on the outlet of the bends where I found my own "leggings" to faff with - deciding to remove my buff, keep it dry and replace it with the hood of my coat, hence keeping my hair dry for later in the day.
Finally we were swinging off the big open road and onto the Cheshire lanes towards Goostrey.
The quotation at the top of this page now amuses me for Goostrey is where I first noticed the rain properly. It started as we approached Goostrey and passed Jodrell Bank. Some visitors in cars were being hastily turned away so we were paying more attention to the 6 sets of reversing lights looking at us - but the sheer volume of wet stuff running down the road in Goostrey made it impossible to stay dry. Water flew off my front wheel into my face and onto my legs. Any negative thoughts about the place were replaced by distant familiarity for the pub, the shop where I replaced the batteries in my light in 2012 and the caravan park. By the time we left it I was trying to remember where we go next... and starting to worry a little bit about my hands.
I wanted to keep my warm gloves nice for later on in the day, expecting the rain to continue to fall and then the temperature to drop to around 3 degrees over night. Last time we did this ride unprepared we limped home at around 10pm, just sneaking inside the cut-off (we might have had dispensation for the icy weather then). I didn't want to get my warm gloves out but instead, tried to flex my fingers inside the thin ones to get the blood to flow and warm my hands up.
The back lanes to Middlewich was the answer to "where do we go next" and as we came out the other side, I finally determined that the gloves were not working any more. With freezing fingers, I "oozed" them off my hands and fumbled the pockets on my Carradice to remove the massive lobster claw fluffies. I struggled to ram my pathetic slabs of cold fish into the drying cotton jersey knit cuffs but got there in the end. TSK had ridden ahead, just as I was cursing that what I really should have done was put my rain legs on as well (like Mr clever clogs and his "leggings"). He remembered though that around the corner was Mike wearing his wooly hat trying to keep warm in his van, waiting to sign our brevet cards. As they chatted with another guy about his "way out" route, I took the opportunity to "leg-up". The other guy asked how many entrants and how many starters there were. 98 entered and 49 started. My take - I'd already "beaten" almost 50 people but then corrected myself that it isn't in the spirit of the ride (inwardly still smug).
We continued on through made-up placenames like "Church Minshull", "Ashton Juxta Mondrum" and "Occlestone Green". You gotta love the Saxons.
We gained a tail for a while, the man who decided to quit was suffering the cold hand too. He'd even removed his gloves in an effort to make his hands warmer. I appreciate the sentiment but it really wasn't working for him as he ouched and ooched his way along. For a little while, he admired my suspension forks which was nice because until that point I'd been a little sub-conscious about them and their unsuitability for mudguard use which had caused me some issues early in the ride. As we approached the Nantwich bypass he was really struggling with his hands. We crossed the road and he didn't come with us. I only assume he decided to take the right turn and head home, or stopped to do some star jumps to rectify the blood flow before continuing.
As I thought about him, I continued to worry about my own hands. Although they were toasty warm, I could already feel the moisture starting to seep through the seams at the tips of my fingers. For a start, my hands don't put out much heat and the contact with wet things - handlebars, levers - means it's really difficult to make gloves that are truly waterproof but also breathable enough to remain fluffy for long. Even these £60 motha****ers were starting to feel it.
We passed a few cafs along the way. The first looked a bit posh and tea-room / golf clubby. The second was the "one that they meant" but by then we'd already passed it, had never been in it before and were already plotting to get to Nantwich instead. At a slight detour to the route we headed for Nantwich town centre to the red and white hang-over that was the aftermath of the Christmas Santa Dash running race.
We found ourselves a Nero which turned out to be the greatest dog-cafe I have ever witnessed and settled down to watch a steady stream of dressed up pooches and sweaty santas parading by.
My number one priority was to dry my feet out a bit. This may seem like a whimsical desire on such a wet day when you're only going back out in it again but I literally had a small puddle sloshing about in the bottom of each boot so any gains in dryness were going to be welcome. I stripped off my boot and wool socks and stepped back outside in bare feet to empty the boots of water and ring out the socks, sparing my fellow customers the grim sight of brown water dripping from them... and my feet.
I drank my coffee and ate my lunch bare foot before reluctantly redressing to go to the loo. At least the extra air I'd introduced to the now re-fluffed sock fabric was helping to retain a bit of heat in the air pockets in the weave and when we left I was still damp but at least a damn sight warmer.
After about 8 miles we rode into Shropshire which is satisfying for a December ride.
5 miles later we arrived in Market Drayton and to our great surprise caught up to another cyclist. Actually, it was more of a surprise to her as we had been chasing for about the last 6 miles and only caught her when she stopped at the roundabout to wait for a gap in the traffic. "Where did you come from?" she said when we pulled into the petrol station to pick up some supplies and our receipts as proof of passage. The lone female rider had been thinking she was on her own. As Andrew and I chatted he said, "I'm really impressed with Yoo" (he calls me that when he's being shyly affectionate). Me? I said, expecting to be complimented on my speed. "Yes, Yoo", he said, "hardly any stops for food. You've done 60k then 80k!". I hadn't thought about it that way but yes, I am much more prepared to eat on the bike and am much better at knowing what to bring. Plus, still convinced I'd had the blood clot longer than anyone had imagined, I don't think my body was ever so efficient at carrying energy - instead burning it off in a vague attempt to constantly keep my heart beating against that / whatever restriction it was.
We explained to the other rider that we'd already had lunch in Nantwich. She was looking for the cafe and rode on ahead. A few moments later we found her walking the other way along the high street and directed her back to the right spot as she was starting to lose the will to live, although beyond being hungry, seemed in good spirits. Unfortunately we believe she later pulled out.
Market Drayton was setting up for some kind of evening festival, laying out fencing and closing the high street, effectively. A jovial council official directed us to ride up the path instead - refreshing - and we pootled out the other side without hindrance.
By now my hands were getting proper hot and the moisture issues I'd had from earlier were quashed as the rain subsided to drizzle and eventually stopped. My hands had dried off any leakage and I was now running the risk of starting to sweat into my good gloves. I decided to risk trying to dry out my thin gloves, knowing I could revert to the thick ones later if necessary.
So the lobster-claws were stuffed, unceremoniously into a side pocket of my Carradice and the thin gloves restored, sopping wet, onto my hands. Remarkably it worked and I soon warmed up the wet and started to dry it out. I was actually gobsmacked at how warm it was for December.
From Market Drayton, we started to get a tail wind - slightly oblique at this point - but it was enough to start to whoosh us along whereas previously we'd been occasionally buffetted about with a headwind. Our average speed shot up 1.3 miles per hour. It was a good day! The first few bites of Mars Bar from the petrol station helped somewhat and when they started to make me tremble, I tucked into the yukky energy bar which TSK already warned me was rubbish. The last third ended up falling under our wheels as I fumbled it in my hand and we left it for the crows and badgers. I'd already got what I wanted from it - enough energy to get me to Old Ma's coffee shop near Tarporley.
As we turned off the B5130 at Aldford, my mind was wandering and my backside was aching. We must've done 80 miles I thought, checked my watch. 79.89 miles. Yep, 80 mile arse. I'll know I've truly made it when I can get rid of 80 mile Arse. 90 mile Arse will make me very happy. Brain still wandering. Arse. Thankfully, Andrew picked up the info control at Aldford and then as we rode through Stretton, gawping at beautiful properties and enjoying a whooshing downhill, I thankfully noticed that we'd missed a turn and we briefly retraced to get ourselves back on track. We were definitely ready for a sit down on a different chair and some more food.
Through the familiar lanes of Tarporley. Almost on home territory now, we stopped in Tarporley for the Chester Triathlon last summer and I rode these lanes on my way to register. So my Garmin was peppered with little marker points giving me directions since I forgot to load my pleasant route onto the device before leaving home... so I did it manually.
Then the familiar sight of Old Ma's - the big farm buildings with the little cafe nestled in the forecourt, all big gates and bright lights. We locked up together just outside the window and TSK rushed in to order our tea. It was dead-on the 4pm closing time. The two young lasses (no Old Ma in sight) bustled about us, taking our order, sorting out cheese & beans on toast, apologising for not doing it right but offering us grated cheese on top of the beans instead of grilled cheese with beans on top (Fine! Whatever! Has Kev been here!?!) and unloading two of the most delicious lemon meringue pie slices known to man onto our tray. Happy Birthday to me.
I got my phone out to take a picture but instead got overwhelmed with texts from Becky and my mum which I proudly replied to, boasting that I only had 70km left to do and a big slice of pie.
In between mouthfuls of beans on toast and coffee, I changed out of yellow lenses to colourless ones (adding that they were also cleaner and therefore now clear! - it was like lasic eye surgery).
I got my battery out and plugged in my Garmin and reinstated my buff around my neck and on my head for it had now stopped raining and the coat was just too warm.
The pie was delish but it was time to get back out on the road. It was a little chilly but as soon as we got moving we were OK. We skirted around Oulton Park without realising where we were then, seeing signs for Winsford, I mused that I should know where I was but didn't have a clue.
That is until we mused about the "sunset" being in the wrong place and realising it was the bright lights (not so big city) of Northwich. To the West, sure enough was the after-glow of daylight on the horizon... or possibly Ellesmere Port, it's hard to tell.
Still, last time we were here (doing the route in reverse), we'd missed some of these back lanes in favour of a direct line through Northwich town - to much protest from me as it's quite a horrible town sometimes. This year, the ice was of little concern as most of it was either melted or washed away in the earlier rainstorm. On the basis that *I* - yes *me* (little miss icicle) was still riding in thin and damp gloves, ice really wasn't a bother this year.
We ploughed on down Mill Lane and Shipbrook Road, popping out in Lach Dennis before bobbing back onto lanes that took us through Lower Peover (resisting the Bells of Peover pub) finally skimming Ollerton and passing Manchester Airport where it was TSK's turn to lose his bearings but basically we were in my childhood back-yard. It is an understatement to say that I was relieved to be heading to Bredbury to finish and not facing the massive down-and-up that forms the Bollin River valley on the way to my parents' house.
Two riders passed us as we neared the turning and we exchanged "how are you doing?" pleasantries before my folly in Wilmslow took TSK and I on a detour through the sports centre carpark where we narrowly avoided puncturing on glass before rejoining the road. Still, at least I wasn't getting hauled along as part of a group that would kill me in the last 13 miles.
To write now that it was 13 miles to the finish feels crazy. I had it so fixed in my head that we were nearly there by the time we got to Wilmslow and I literally didn't notice that last hour except for the very last climb.
Partly because it's steep and it's long and its preceded by a downhill with effing traffic lights to scrub off all your momentum... and partly because it really is the LAST climb and as soon as you go down the other side of it, you're there - at the finish - done!
Of course TSK came right back past me on the way up the climb and, since he knew that I was happy navigationally, he continued on his way to start organising his stuff from the back of the car to get changed into something drier and less smelly. I joined him a few minutes later, throwing the damp and sweaty gear in the back of the car and replacing the stuff in my Caradice with dry, fluffy fleecy clothing and a towel. I rode around the corner to the venue and locked up the bikes.
\Post ride note: it gives me great satisfaction that I actually wanted to get back on the bike at this point. For the last months I have been indifferent, if not baffled, as to the improvements gained by a radical new choice of saddle for my new bike. The fact that I was able to execute a further 45 seconds on it, in favour of leaving the car in the car park - or walking - is testament to how comfy the new saddle really is.\
Priorities - tea, apple, soup. Then wash, lying on the floor, stretching whilst TSK talked long distances and times gone by. In 2011 on this ride, he had been one of only two riders to complete. In 2010 only one man, Nick Firth, completed, such was the severity of the day's weather. It is said that he wished he hadn't bothered as it took so much out of him for the coming weeks.
I finally made it into the chair then into the bathroom to wash the mud and salt off my face (50% of it sweat, the other 50% off the road). It felt good to be in normal clothes, cotton knickers, fleece trousers and woolly jumper. I put on Andrew's shoes and went to get the car so I didn't have to put my wet cycling shoes back on. As I stepped outside, the two other lady riders had just got in - I assume. I quietly glowed. Still not sure what to say, I muttered, "well done". It sounded horribly patronising. They were still too engaged to really respond. I was actually quite engaged with trying to get my lock undone which seemed to have got itself stuck and I didn't have the strength or patience to fix it. I went to get TSK instead.
The drive home gave me a good 90 minutes to reflect as TSK snoozed in the passenger seat of the car, the satnav reliably guiding me home through the back-streets of Hyde.
It was nice to come out from underneath TSK's coat tails today. Almost literally, as I much preferred to sit on the front than take a wheel and eat the dirt flying off it. Long distance used to be his thing, that I occasionally came along on for the ride (pun intended) but now I've genuinely rekindled a love for it and honed that feeling over the summer. My anticipation of rejoining the Audax community was justified. I've been reading the magazines in earnest for long enough - dreaming of the day when I could hang up my swimming goggles and running shoes and get back to just riding my bike and holding conversations with people who mainly see me as the noobie and from whom I have so much to learn and emulate - not the other way round. I've become tired of being an experienced triathlete. Being a novice audaxer leaves me room to grow and I can't wait to let more experiences flood in.
On 16th I entered a 300k ride (The Dean - which TSK used to organise) so it's really a bloody good job the 200 went so well. It was by no means the perfect ride - though a little rain is really nothing to put up with in exchange for 9 degrees (heat) when it could have been minus something nasty and just dangerous - but I enjoyed every single friggin minute. When one guy commented that there was no such thing as a tail wind - just a good day - I felt it. The headwind didn't bother me. The tail wind didn't feel like a pay off, it just felt like everything was going swimmingly. Yes, some altitude would have challenged the whole ride a bit more but that's what summers are for... as I remind myself that The Dean is in March.
There was only one lesson learned that I took from today - which was about water and fabrics. I honestly couldn't believe the moisture that came out of my socks yesterday morning but also I couldn't believe what a difference it made after I squeezed it out. I can't begin to think what I would have done if I hadn't had spare gloves or heat pads with me yesterday (didn't need the heat pads thankfully) but I'd like to think that wringing them out might have got me somewhere and it's something I'll take forward in future. I only wish I'd thought of it in time to save the guy that was riding with us. All he really needed was a bloody good glove shop to be honest. Maybe I will also remind myself to pack some crisps - or crackers. Sugar really got to me after 5pm and so half a mars bar and the best part of a bag of M&Ms had a lovely ride around Cheshire.
So onwards. With another 200k organised in January, I am now embarking on the RRTY challenge, the first opportunity to link a 200km ride each month is inspired by a visit to Oxfordshire and Warwickshire to visit Silver which will be a wonderful follow-up to the ride (or replacement for it should everything go "tits oop" - so to speak).
Whether we make it through the RRTY or not, in 2005, I wrote this:
When I think of the biffdays that have been great in my life, my 18th always comes to mind – because that is when I got my first pair of skis and boots from my ma and pa. Only once have I used my skis on dry slope surface – because at the age of 18 you can’t possibly wait for the next ski trip. I took the day off work, I drove to Rossendale, I paid 40 quid for two hours skiing but it was a Wednesday and no-one was checking so I spent the entire day going up and down the same 60 metres of carpet on a small windy hill on the edge of Lancashire. At closing time, I threw my gear in the “little s**t” aka Gustav-Sylvester-the-fiesta and drove back to Manchester, probably to get drunk with Tanya who had returned from Leeds Uni for the Christmas holiday
For a while after that, I tried to ski on my birthday every year, whether it was at uni, on the dry slope in Manchester or in Canada. Whilst I can't guarantee that every year will be a 9 degree year, I set out with some trepidation now to claim that in future, I might try and do a 200 every year on my birthday - whether it's on a Sunday or not - whether it's an organised event or not. Clearly this might affect my ability to do the winter solstice again so maybe I'll reserve the birthday for preparing for the Solstice ride. Anything, absolutely anything would be preferable to shopping for other people's presents which is invariably how my other birthdays as a grown up tend to go.
So there we have it: new goals set, new rules established, one for this year smashed... at approximately on Sunday 17th December, as I dropped my lip balm in the road outside the lovely Capesthorne Hall, I had clocked up a total of 5000 miles of cycling in 2017.
Audax History
Since the Audaxing calendar offers me a satisfying array of history, some of which is lost in the midsts of time as my own personal record-keeping technology has moved on, I'll log myself some stats here:
2007 - First winter solstice-201 km - officially part of the 2008 season(23/12/2007)
2008 - Castleton Classic-201km(20/4/2008), Heart of the Shires-206km(07/06/2008), Hills & Plains of Cheshire-212km(27/7/2008)
2009 - Wiltshire White Horses-205km(14/3/2009)
2010 - East Riding 200 - 210km(23/5/2010)
2012 - North-West Passage-200km(18/2/2012), Chirk-200km(25/3/2012) 9:18
2013 - Winter Solstice-201km(16/12/2012)
2014 - Mildenhall Cycling Rally-206km(23/8/2014)
2017 - Winter Solstice-201km(17/12/2017)
Splits:
- 20 mile 12.9 mph HR 134
- 1 minute chat!
- 38 miles 11.7 mph HR 129
- 30 minute lunch at Costa
- 5 mile 11.9 mph HR 127 to market drayton
- 1 minute petrol station stop
- 31 mile 12 mph HR 124
- 42 mins tea shop stop
- 43.76 miles 11.6 mph HR 100
Total time: 12:00. Riding time: 10:58 ish
