The Festive 500 that Closed 2017

The brittle hand of someone who briefly forgot who they
were then rediscovered themselves over a festive challenge.

I've only attempted the Festive 500 once (last year) and at the time I was having a good cyclo-cross season so there was no chance I was *actually* going to make it with three hard races over Christmas week.  So I did an alternative Festive 500 by counting every km in a heart rate zone multiplied by the zone.  So 1km in zone 1 was good for 1km.  1km in zone 5 good for 5km, making a tough 10km 'cross race good for 40 - 50kms.  Not surprisingly, I did it, but it didn't really count for much.

This year, being the year that I am doing lots of mileage anyway, I decided I have no excuse for not doing the festive 500 but I didn't really read the rules and to be honest I didn't really care.  Does that reflect the fact that I didn't think I'd finish again?  Did I really not care?  I honestly don't know.  I suspect I was being a little bit cocky.  I just rode 200km, can't be that hard right?  It's just over two of those and there's a whole 8 days to do it.

Throughout the week I found myself doing more and more math - was I gonna make it?  I don't really care right? Wrong.

Andrew got a couple more rides in than me in the early days by going out twice when it was icy.  At the end of the second day, whilst he was still out, I jumped on the rollers.  It doesn't count towards the Festive 500 but doing the exercise made me feel better about the day, regardless and left me thinking, "screw the Festive 500, I'll do my own festive 500 and I'll count the kms on the rollers".

But then I went for a ride 2 days later and suddenly it was back on.  I mean, if I made it including the rollers session, then I'd know I'd made it and if I made it not counting the rollers session, I could tell the world.

Whilst TSK turned for home because he'd practically done his bit, I carried on for another 3-4 hours to get in all the miles of the ride I had planned also partly because we'd just made it off familiar territory and for me and I was now onto unfamiliar terrain.  It wasn't just headwindy anymore, it was new and exiting, there were things to discover.  Plus the math turned around in my head, 135 plus 125 plus 70 plus 45 (on the rollers).  In the end, I wasn't sure what I'd done and what I hadn't.

I got the laptop out at the end of my ride on the 30th and concluded that from Christmas day to New years day I would still have to do 100 miles - 50 miles per day - but if I could count our Christmas eve ride of 63km, then I only had around 60 miles left to do - rollers or no rollers.  On the morning of 31st it all felt reasonably feasible.  I could still do this thing and declare it to the world and so I set off for a further ride on New Years Eve.

Still the math turned over in my head, a symptom of me being fucking tired.

TSK asked me in the morning, "What are you doing today?"

"Going out to do some more", I said, slightly reluctantly.  That said, I was going out to do one of the flattest rides that I know from home and secretly looking forwards to a day of riding on my own (without the expectations of "others" ie TSK) and no-one to make me feel slow by shooting past me at the bottom of the hill then waiting at the top like an excited Jack Russell.  I got out as early as I could for a woman who ate two breakfasts and needed to charge batteries (both metaphorical and littoral).  The plan was to be done by 6pm in time for a shower and quick change before new years' dinner.

This soon went down the toilet as I realised, at the top of my hill, that I had no water in my bottle or food in my bag.  I stopped off at the ASDA in the village and replenished my stocks.  No amount of environment was going to see me rolling down the hill to refill my bottle.  Sorry environment, I bought a plastic bottle and binned it.  Yeah I know, shame on me.

From there, I made a number of profound adjustments to my cleats position, trying to achieve that perfect ride position.  It took me around 40 minutes to get out of the village and I still didn't feel comfortable

I decided to screw going through Chatsworth on New Years Eve for fear of traffic and instead opted for a reverse repeat of Abbeydale Road followed by a high-level wibble across Holmesfield Common and then a descent beyond Chatsworth to join the route.  In the end, this included a number of 180 turns in the road as I tried to avoid as many hill climbs as possible and failed due to inconsistent map reading.  It was therefore a relief to get onto my route so I could just start following a pink line on the map.  I was also glad I was alone for this faffing.

Then I saw a sign.

The only downside was my route had been mapped in avoidance of conurbations for maximum enjoyment.  I very nearly helped myself to the bag of emergency Twiglets in my bag but I was struggling to be warm.  I couldn't feel my toes and my fingers weren't working enough on my left hand to enable me to switch my big gear.  I waited it out until I had reached Kat's cafe.  Apparently Kat was out so I rolled-on by.  Thankfully, there's soon a sign for a garden centre cafe and restaurant which kept me particularly happy.  They let me lock my bike near the doors, it was warm inside and bustling and interesting.  Everyone was happy and in good moods.

I demolished a jacket potato and resisted hot chocolate for fear of feeling ill from milk products.  I stretched and tried to ease my frozen shoulders, my aching neck. My toes had thawed out but  I was accepting that I had failed to take the wind chill into consideration when deciding what shoes to wear, I ripped open my hand-warmers and stuffed them under my arches to keep my feet thawed out for the rest of the ride.  I opened the pack of Twiglets and stuffed them in the side pocket of my Carradice for eating easily later.

Stepping outside I shivered.  I gave in, added a layer to my top and started riding.  It had the good grace to hail briefly at 3pm so I changed into waterproofs and continued.

I reached Alfreton and thankfully this time, passed without consequence - no punctures, no confused old men.

I passed back out into countryside, crossing the M1 and starting my wibble North - finally, the tail wind started to kick in.  At an oblique angle unfortunately.  In my haste to get out I'd missed the trick of setting off towards the South East and returning more directly North, thereby obtaining the best tail wind vector for my ride home.  Still, at least the end would be relatively flat!

The lights went on and in one last brief attempt to settle my ride position, I stopped in a lay-by to drop and tip my saddle slightly, move my foot-warmers into the toe box of my shoes (my toes were still frozen) and finally felt my shoulders ease for the first time all day.  I can't believe I rode the best part of 100 miles in the last two days with my saddle too high.

On the other side of Sutton in Ashfield, a couple in their 50's waiting at the bus stop for their new year's eve out, watched me ride up the hill, "get those knees up" she shouted.  "I'm trying my best," I said, "there's a party waiting in Sheffield!"

I reminisced about the last time I passed this way in early November and a full moon.  The moon was full tonight as well and I had watched it here last time and then I saw an incredible thing, a flash of green light streaking across the sky, orange trail floating behind it, a piece peeled off.  "Oh my god", I thought, "A meteor!".  But it was new years' eve right?  It was a firework, surely.  There was no sound.  No whizz pop, no bang, I know it was windy but fireworks don't usually fly by horizontally.  It was windy...  It was 5:23pm.  Surely no-one sets the clocks forward 6 and a half hours and fibs the kids into believing they've seen in the new year?

Perhaps I was imagining it.  I opened the Twiglets and started to gorge myself.

As I rode into Chesterfield it started pissing it down.  It pissed it down last time I rode through Chesterfield.  I sheltered under the railway bridge where it was dry to text TSK so he knew where I was and put the colourless lenses in my glasses.  I propped my bike against a wall, covered in pigeon shit, inspiring the phrase, "any one of you shits on me, I'll climb up there and kill you so I will."

I used the best route I could come up with to get me out of Chesterfield.  It differed slightly from TSKs preferred but I was aiming to stick to my plan of using the least built-up routes possible and if I wasn't going to do the Festive 500 I was going to have nice rides out of it - my way, not sacrificing enjoyment for the sake of miles.  Still not caring, no Sir.

I peaked the hill and started to descend.  I reached in my pocket for the glasses I'd removed in the torrential rain and shook the water off them before putting them back on my face.  Crack! Tinkle! Shit!  One of the lenses had come loose when I shook it and presumably was now sitting somewhere in the road - no doubt being run over by passing motorists.

I had no time for Photos from this ride.
But basically it looked a bit like this!

I ditched my bike in the long grass and set about walking up and down the road with my light, searching.  Basically I didn't find it.  When I replaced my light with my frozen hands, I missed, sending it smashing into the tarmac.  Damn those Cateye 1200s are resilient but it had all got too much.  "Fuuuuuuck yoooooouuuu Festive 500" I screamed at the ride, at the rain, at Chesterfield, at Rapha.  Then I got back on and started riding my bike, the one clear eye, one rainy eye adding a certain hilarious outlook on life.  Eventually I lost the will to persevere and removed the glasses, the other lens popping out as I crammed them into my coat pocket.

I continued Northwards, past Chesterfield and on to the Barlow Road.  Up and up.  Flying over the hill and down, dealing with the boy racers, ignoring them, finally surfacing back onto Abbeydale Road.

Now don't ask me what happened here but basically, I followed the road up to Dore, then (as has happened before) convinced myself that it would be better to go straight on through Hallamshire and Ranmoor and Crookes than descend to Broomhill and up again (to Crookes) whereas actually, what would have been faster is to stay on Abbeydale road into town and simply ride up the one hill like I had yesterday.

I still have no idea why I do this to myself.  I have a short circuit in my brain that tells me this is the best route - and maybe its the straightest line (it's really not) but there's two valleys in the bloody way!  TWO!*  I got lost in Ranmoor like I always do.  I got lost in Hallamshire like I always do - and I had a frickin' map to follow!

Still, arriving in Crookes, knowing that I had no more climbing left to do was overwhelming.  Just the short hop through the village and I dropped like a stone to the house.  I was over an hour riding from Chesterfield.

I was in and out of the shower and driving over to my friends' house within 30 minutes.  No time to check the results but I knew one thing for sure, there was NO WAY I was going to do any riding tomorrow.  Fuck the festive 500 indeed.  It was all forgotten, the only way I'd finish it is if I counted my Christmas eve.

The moment I walked through the door Jez said, "We wondered where you were but I couldn't find you on Strava so I gave up".

"That's coz I'm not on it", I said, laughing and giving him a hug.  Another reason why I shouldn't be allowed and aren't bothered by the Festive 500.  Thankfully, no-one asked if I'd managed it - not even TSK.  One thing was for sure, as I lounged on the sofa at 9pm, everyone else still being sociable, there was NO WAY I was going out on Monday - but could I resist?  If it was only 30 miles to be done, would I resist?

I ate a massive pile of meat and wonderful salads - fresh guacamole, coleslaw, smoked ham and salmon, cheese prepared by my wonderful friends The Hawkins.  After a brief sociable spell, I hardly drank anything, not through restraint for wanting to ride on Monday but because I didn't have the energy to be pissed and alcohol was only making me more sleepy.  I allowed the others' conversations to wash over me - only narrowly resisting committing to a full pedal car solo season.

After we watched the fireworks and played skalextrix we drove home.  "I've had enough", I said.  "Fuck it, my festive 500 is running from Christmas Eve to New Years Eve."  I'm not going out tomorrow.  Them's my rules and I'm sticking to it".

"Them's are the rules", said TSK.

"Really?"

We got home, I fell asleep.

Not bothered, no, not in the slightest.  First thing, up, breakfast, laptop on, watch plugged in, downloaded, righted, added, Christmas eve to new years eve, 555.3km.  Excluding the indoor cycling - 506km.  BOOM!

I would say I was happier just to have had a lovely time but truth is some of it was brutally hard, cold, painful and exhausting.

I would say I was happy with the accomplishment alone but the first thing I did was log on to Strava and  start uploading my rides (don't normally use it).

I submitted my claim.  All that effort, I wanted a cloth badge - no messin.

So how do you top that?  You don't.  You just keep ridin'. Because it's what I do now.  I have bigger fish to fry.  If I get to this point in June, lying in my bivi, just not wanting to move another muscle - seriously what'll I do?  I'll have a bloody day off and finish the ride, that's what I'll do.

So I've taken my 69 bpm resting heart rate this morning and I have rested.  Actually, I've washed my bike with it in the hope that next week something good will come of all this effort for my 200k in January (and I will at least be capable of riding to work on Tuesday morning).

Today's rest counts as "what I do" because it is bike and so I finish 2017 happy in the reminder that bike is what I do.  The wilful challenge now is to remember that work is not what defines me, bike is.  What better end can there be to a year?

Happy New Year Everyone

*The Hanging Valley, Mayfield valley climbs totalled 244m, added at least 97m climbing and a whole extra km to my route.