The preamble
On Friday afternoon I was crying in the carpark of the GP surgery. It wasn't crying. It was sobbing.
An all-encompassing grief for the loss of youth and vitality. Mourning my demise. If this is what ageing looks like I don't want to get old. I was desperate to get my hands on a prescription to get rid of "Glue Ear." This annoying condition has me deaf on one side, the fluid in my eustacian tube will not drain. I have nothing to listen to but the drone of my own voice, my breathing and my heart rate. The prescription was locked in Nhs beaurocracy and right then, right there, that prescription was my only hope for a return to a normal life. When I speak, I feel like I'm shouting at people. At work it isn't great. I've stopped exercising due to the noise of the asthmatic heavy-breather chasing me everywhere I go. To top it all off the boiler failed and I couldn't fix it.
So I cried. Then I rang nhs 111 and went through the menu system.
Here's the commentary:
• • •
Hi. Please tuck off and use the internet.
If you're an idiot or luddite and need the internet texting to you press 1.
If you're still sick press 2.
If you have covid fuck off.
If you don't know what covid is yet look at the internet and fuck off.
Do your teeth hurt? Press 1
For all other illnesses Press 2
Please wait to be diverted to your local nhs.
If you have covid fuck off.
If you don't know what covid is yet look at the internet and fuck off.
Do your teeth hurt? Press 1
For all other illnesses press 2
If you have covid, fuck off unless you're actually dying.
If you're actually dying, ring 999.
Are you still here? Press 2.
Once I had navigated this menu, I met the most compassionate person in the nhs, the automated queuing voiceover who reassured me I was still seriously ill and someone would be with me shortly.
After calls back at 1am, 6:45am and 10am, I finally had a new GP appointment at the walk in centre to go through the same stuff all over again but finally got my prescription back in my sweaty tear-stained paws. I celebrated with my first haircut in 18 months, lunch in town, a trip to Boots the chemist and a shower at the gym on my way home.
The cycling bit
It was important that I got this sorted because at 4pm I was heading out with Landslide for my first bivi out in months. I know exactly how many months.
My last out was in June on the Jenn ride. In July, August, work took over my life. I feel fortunate to occasionally love my job and sometimes I don't mind long hours but I spent every Saturday recovering and Sunday getting ready to go back. For a short period it isn't a problem but sometimes it does go on and on with people taking more and more and more liberties over my life.
I'd finally found another balance point where I could get a day or two for me.
L arrived on time and patiently chatted to TSK while I searched the house for random selections of bike- packing gear that had become disparately spread out around the house. The only thing lacking was a functional tool bag but I carried Landslide with me instead. Drama ensued when I realised, despite the warm evening, I couldn't survive with a bumbag and frantically transferred everything into my rucsac.
• • •
We hauled up and around Bole Hills, over to Coldwell Lane, through Fox Hagg into the setting sun and over to Stanage Pole, keeping one eye on the clock to make sure we arrived at the pub in time to eat.
Chris shot off down the causeway at warp speed, a testament to the lots of riding he's been doing while I have been a deaf granny.
Also, I was wearing my sandals and not wanting to break toes on a crash and I was still struggling to get to grips with my bike again. The road held no such risks and we plummeted into the Yorkshire Bridge pub only to find they weren't feeding non residents so Chris rang the Ladybower whilst I loaded my stuff up and started the sprint over there, as soon as he said we had 10 minutes to place our order.
Glutes engaged.
• • •
L ordered. I bagged the table. We sat out in shorts and down coats and drank our usual and pretended everything was normal. We were quite convincing.
The only thing to get us moving was the sense of chill in the air. I went to the loo. The speakers played out Stephen Fry reading "Harry Potter". It was calming, soothing, womb like compared to the chill air outside. I wanted to stay. Clever marketing people.
We started the steady push up the rocky steep track onto the moor, walked out of cold air and into patches of warmth.
I mused about letting my streak of 30 BAMs go. I pondered that one day I would regret it. Would this be that day? My first in a new streak also felt good though.
-1-
The Come-back.
L was questioning our sanity. Maybe we should've just curled up with Steven Fry in the toilets.. What? Sure? Sleeping in toilets. Yeah - like normal people. Have you heard us?
Then we noticed the moon, almost full, over the trees below Stanage North end and it made everything OK again.
• • •
We intermittently got on our bikes riding over towards the Derwent Edges. I got off more than not, my skills and balance just done for. Something wasn't right with my seating arrangement but I just put it down to the play in my dropper post because I sure as hell wasn't going to mess with it in the dark.
By the time we got near the summit I was done for. My core ached, my arms ached and my legs had no power in to pedal. For the third time I wobbled over on the gritstone slabs and fell onto the peat bog.
• • •
Thankfully it was dry and I did not even sink. I reverted to my current work mode of a determined trudge. At least I'm successful at stomping.
We passed a number of tents on our way but what I was really looking forward to was the rocky nook that Landslude and I reccied on another trip. We passed other features or stopped to water the heather before reaching our destination, manned by 2 other camping groups already.
In a gesture of not-quite-defiance I sat on a rock. I was exhausted. It wasn't the riding though. It was the week. It was life. I was so tired of it all.
• • •
Thoughts of just riding straight home played on my mind as the city twinkled in the distance but L convinced me there was another spot just around the corner and offered me jelly beans by way of motivation but I've eaten so much crap recently it just didn't appeal.
We put on head torches and trousers to keep the breeze off and busied ourselves rigging camp amongst damp earth and lichens, sheep shit and gritstone. Layers went on and bags rolled out. L set about brewing up his second meal of the evening. I sat and stared at my "Apple and Custard" desert and one aged tea bag. I wasn't really hungry but felt a little left out of the camping experience. Foggy cloud rolled in across the moor to complement the greyscale effect with backlighting from the now-obscured moon.
L asked if I felt better now, being out in nature. My flat answer was "not really" as I stared out at the grey. Damn it must be bad.
• • •
For a moment I lay down in my bivi bag, not even in my sleeping bag yet, and stared at the moor. This was ridiculous. Out of sheer need to do something other than wallow in my own depression I fired up my stove. The meticulous rigging, finding a sweet flat spot within reach, the slow unpacking of kit, the glow of the flame, the careful water pour, making tea with the leftover water or packing the lid down for it to brew.
I stirred the water into the custard powder, set the pouch on my lap inside my bivi bag and waited with the lights out for my mood to brew into something better. There was only distant sound from a few motorbikes. All other campers were either sound asleep or buffered from earshot by the gritstone crag.
Not quite enough water to make liquid custard but more like a fist-sized patty of yellow mush containing apple chunks. Still, the semi-solid mush tasted like egg custard from out of a tart and it was warm and actually it was good. Really good.
The tea went down well. I enjoyed cans of (I don't know what) and we talked - and didn't talk in perfect balance.
Each of us picked our own spot but gradually nature shaped us into a perfect L with my feet sliding down hill to gently butt up to his shoulder.
I adjusted my tyvek a little so that I didn't rudely kick him in the head all night.
When we went off to sleep I closed my bug net but I had a restless night, constantly getting up for a pee and in the end left my bivi open to the elements to let it breathe. For the first time in ages I slept outdoors without coat, gloves or hat on.
An intermittent breeze occasionally flapped things but I just lay still and listened and watched the darkness until finally I relented and dug out my ear plugs.
The dew had fallen outside the crag and I closed my frame bag to stop it getting any wetter but we were dry under the protective shelf of gritstone.
At 5am we were woken by grouse, seemingly debating these strange objects that had arrived on their territory. I knew L had to be home to take his son to football but I snoozed in for a while and he busied himself with his breakfast. The grey clouds disappeared in a whisper of breeze and by the time I was properly awake, colour had returned to the world
"Now. Now I feel better."
• • •
The porridge I brought had clearly been around for some time but eating it was better than not. It had a slightly acidic tinge to it. The coffee had been ground down to fine powder and topped up multiple times so it was very good.
I wobbled my saddle around to see how much play was in it. It slid back and forth on the rails taking my bag with it and I remembered it was a new saddle which I had bunged on there in a rush one weekend with a plan to fix it properly next time I rode the bike. Ok. No wonder my core was fucked and my undercarriage chaffed.
• • •
We watched a kestrel browsing for its breakfast then Landslide set off and left me with the spiders and the midges who made a sudden appearance as soon as the temperature hit just the right level and the breeze became less consistent. Despite the warm start to the day I put my gloves on.
Aware that we were reaching more sociable hours I packed up all my stuff but it was already warm enough to just sit out - given that I needed to stay in my waterproof trousers and long sleeve coat, just to keep the midges off.
• • •
For an age I just sat and stared at the moor - drinking it all in. Listening, watching, being. Finally I was happy again and I had some time to myself.
Ever since I started this bike packing journey I've had my eye on events - TNR, the winter ride, BB200, Braunton150, HT550, Trans Atlantic way. I realise I've never actually done it just for the joy of sitting around doing nothing. There's always somewhere to be.
My nothingness was broken up by the steady pitter-patter of mizzle.
Realising I had waterproof everything except socks I decided I should lay those tracks back towards home. I had two very important things to do before heading back to work that evening:
- Pack up my shit
- Eat some more
- Sleep some more
I stripped off the warm layers, left on the waterproofs as the mizzle matured into full-on rain and put on the thick wool socks I'd brought to sleep in in the hope they'd keep the rain off long enough.
As I left the crag the lads from the other tent were teetering around in jeans and teeshirts and dressing into puffer coats to "keep the rain off". I left them to it and enjoyed the descent all to myself except a group of 4 female runners also enjoying the weather.
• • •
I took all the off-road I could to get home. At the road I could have turned left for the easy road ride to Bradfield and a roll down the valley road to home. Instead I turned right towards the bridleways.
The climb out of the gully on the road was easy -peasy on the mtb compared to the last 8 weeks of riding my confused gravel/road gear ratios on Dignity. The secure saddle position did wonders for my agility despite being tired from a night out.
Even the oncoming roadies were cheery. Clearly they hadn't wetted out yet. Then I left them all behind and climbed up 4x4 tracks to the farm, clanged through gates, said good morning to farmers and paused at the bridge over the river Rivelin to watch for the dipper before clattering through the allotments to home.
My socks only just wetted through. I was relatively warm and happy. Without a hot shower at home I reverted to sleeping-off my ride.
I addressed the eating part by sharing dinner with TSK then drove over the Snake Pass in a contented fog to score myself a hot shower in the comforting environment of the same chain hotel in which I have spent many an evening, then passed out for the best sleep I would have for the rest of the working week.
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