All bloody morning I mooched around the house. Not being a consumer of news I missed that Derbyshire is now tanking into tier 4 so I sulked that I can't go to most of my usual haunts in the Peak. This is particularly crushing since I really fancied a night out with my mountain bike and had a route in mind. I packed the bike anyway.
The only ride I plotted for this SouthYorkshire island philosophy was a 235km loop around our borders. I didn't want to do 235km on the road on knobbly tyres - or on ice for that matter.
Eventually at about 11:45, I looked through the living room window and saw occasional flakes of snow starting to fall. I wasn't going to mess about and miss out on this. I've missed out on enough snow this year. Bizarely I decided to stick to the plan, ride the route on the MTB and maybe take two whole days over it.
The route flew out the West of Sheffield as far as it could to loop back into town through Totley then pick up the border between here and Chesterfield and head East. At least, I thought, I could do the off road bits that I know so I set off up the Rivelin Valley.
At the top of the hill I couldn't get my foot out of my cleat. I'd have to deal with that sooner or later.
On the first of the rollers through Bole Hills, the chain I fitted two days ago pinged off leaving me lurching across the road and fighting to get that foot out of my pedal. Thankfully I stopped upright, patiently reversed to the chain lying in the road then hauled it into the undergrowth like a live snake screaming, "FUCK YOU!!!!!"
I could take this as a sign and just go home. But I didn't want to just go home.
Two mountain bikers appeared out of the trail behind me and stared.
I explained the melt down and they worriedly asked "Oh no, have you got far to go?" - looking at my fully loaded bags.
"No, I've just left home - that's the annoying thing".
I threw everything at the nearest gate, pulled out my toolbag and sourced a random quick-link, hoping it's the right size.
It seemed to fit OK (though I'm still not sure if it's the right size) and I carried on.
Deciding to take the road climb with some shiny new gear ratios instead of hiking up through the quarry, I took a seat on the road in a layby in a patch of ground that wasn't covered in snow to tighten up the cleats on my boots. I haven't worn my 45N boots since last year so the position needed adjusting too.
Sadly, the bolts were cranked tight already so the failure to release seemed to simply be down to very very worn cleats not releasing from the pedals - but just on the one side!
I adjusted them anyway and had a chat with a runner who stopped to make sure I hadn't just crashed.
I took a slightly different route to Lodgemoor than usual - for variety and ease. Someone called me brave as I rode into the pelting snow flakes and I did think "stupid" was more appropriate. I was a little gutted I hadn't brought my goggles. I'd never go out skiing in these conditions without goggles. Still, I had glasses on and two sturdy peaks to shelter my eyes.
I rode through the play park near the flats and over the road to the steep climb out of the valley.
I thought of the cosy snuggliness of my sleeping bag when I got to my final destination and then it dawned on me that I hadn't packed my sleeping mat in with me.
Bollocks! What to do now?
There was nothing else for it really than to do a loop to home and then, if I still wanted a sleep-out, pick up the sleeping mat head back out. Otherwise, crash on the sofa.
My mind flitted between that and the unfathomable challenge of keeping going on the route, riding through the night and doing an emergency bivi on a wooden bench if I really needed it. The prospect of Andrew coming out in the van to rescue me gradually diminished with every falling flake of snow as he'd never actually get the car out of our road.
I couldn't remember exactly where the border of Derbyshire is but since there were no border patrol guards at the Houndkirk road checking South Yorkshire passports I decided to cross anyway.
At the other end I realised I'd probably over-extended my reach so cut back across towards Blacka moor and bounced across there. A few hike-a-bikes were had as the path through the heather was too tight for both me and the bike. I was pleased to be able to lift Midnight over my back without any elevation assistance. The gym work is paying off in small, almost undetectable ways but they bring me a lot of joy when I notice them. In scotland I only managed about 9 steps like this with the bike loaded but last night, I made about 50 very positive steps before the heather ran out and I was able to ride the single track all the way down to Shorts lane.
A lot of cutting crisp snow with my tyres was had. It made me extremely happy and woke me up to my wild side again.
My layers of cotton wool were penetrated. No route actually mattered anymore as I made up new routes from the bridleways in my own back yard.
Descents were adorable. I'd finally got my dropper post to start working again - down anyway. I still had to stop to hitch it up by hand with the bag on.
Across Whirlow farm where a luminescent sign shouted "PIGS" at me across the farm track.
Through Whitely woods and along the finishing straight of the cyclocross course for old time's sake.
I rode along Porter Brook in the dark, not a dog or small child in sight then climbed up the back of Endcliffe flats to Ranmoor and over Crookes to home. As I climbed the last hill my energy stores ran to zero and I realised it was dinner time.
By the time I got in the door, my gloves were starting to leak and my leggings were soalked through. The option to go back out again dwindled into CBA as I sat on the sofa eating the food I had originally packed as my lunch, for my dinner.
The snow turned to rain and I was relieved not to have been out getting soggy and cold as I snuggled down under a duvet and a bed spread wearing whatever the hell I liked - rather than waterproof trousers for an extra layer of insulation.
Some other time, bivi bag. Some other time.
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