Church? or Chapel?

Prelude

I have tried, moderately, to write up this ride.  The fact is, it would be proper hard work to write it up accurately.  To describe this ride by any fact is doing it injustice for it was a mash of pedal strokes, mud splatters, sideways sunbeams, snowy distant peaks, raindrops in headtorch beams, snuggly tents and sleeping bags our of the storm, coffees brewed fresh in the forest, surprise shelters, friendly strangers, porridge, best friends for life, colourful sheep, mucky ponies, pub food, railway lines, stained glass, Gallic crosses and icy rivers.

Chapel?

Church?

OR 

Church?

OR...

Chapel?

Llanbrynmwair: a rainy school car park.  Other peoples: eating toast.  I’m given a bottle for my holy water and a half-bottle of red to take communion.  I am also furnished with a Lion Bar and fed tea and toast.  

I change into cycling kit then set about attaching bags to my bike.  A dry bag under the handlebars containing my sleeping bag, a frame bag containing dry leggings, wool tops and knickers (also woollen).  A bottle cage filled with emergency equipment – plasters, painkiller, savlon, a needle, a tampon (good for mopping up all kinds of things), thrush cream (good for all kinds of itches).  Finally, a saddle bag containing half the tent, dried food, down coat and booties, headtorch in a box with some cables and a battery and my mug / brewkit.  My winter addition is two “stemcells”.  They’re shaped like they hold a bike bottle and dangle off the handlebars.  They’re sturdier than it sounds and most accessible so one side contains a tool kit and the other, breakfast oats in a waterproof box and goji berry / walnut mix for munching on.

We say goodbye to the guys huddling from the rain in their van and head off in our coats.

1 mile down the road and I return to the car park and add my rucsac to my back containing 2 litres of water and my waterproof trousers, warm hat, dry gloves energy bars and camera.

We finally get properly underway at 10:20 and by 11:15 have marked off our first checkpoint

.

Further down the road, two guys go straight on as we turn to pick up a bridlepath over to the East.  Much to my embarrassment it goes straight up and I’m convinced that I planned it this way – no worries about a bit of hike-a-bike early on.  I can do easy riding later.  As we head further and further up the 30% slope I become more and more worried that the slope will never end or the path will level out into unrideable forest.  

TSK adding to the scenery

Thankfully, our efforts are rewarded with a spectactular view before the path levels out into an entertaining track through the trees which requires some concentration but is rideable.  

After 5 miles we descend into a little village to claim our Second church and we’ve almost caught a buzzard from the sky, seen an owl and been laughed at by sheep.

For a while we climb away from checkpoint 2 on roads and TSK is almost mown down by an oncoming motorist without any concept of what might be around the next bend.  Over the other side of the hill we descend for some time, eventually overshooting a turn-off onto a bridlepath.  Again we push our bikes up to meet the connecting path we should have taken and swear when we realise if we’d retraced further we’d have had an easy ride.  Still, the path in itself is avoiding some evil chevrons on some evil climbs on the road map so we’re happy, even when having to make up the bridle path because there’s no sign of it on the ground.  

The scenery outweighs the effort and I snap a picture in case the sun doesn't come out again.

We arrive in a village where there’s an open pub serving lunch.  

Just as our meal is arriving, another rider walks in and we catch up about where we’ve been.  The route over the tops by the wind turbines was no better, in fact sounds much worse, than what we’ve just been through so that’s reassuring.  

Filled with baked potatoes we return outside to discover we’ve locked up the bikes without bringing the key for its release with us.  I go indoors and make pretty eyes at the staff and the chef comes to our rescue with a pair of bolt cutters from the boot of his car.  Turns out his other job is a farrier.

Released, we set off on our third off road ride of the day.  We climb up hill a way before turning off onto a well defined path.  It’s not a great bridleway but there’s some path to it.  It doesn’t last long and soon enough we’re following something that diverges greatly from the direction we were *supposed* to take.  After some very cool downhill slaloms which would be better on skis than mountain bikes we find the track again, just as it disappears into a brackeny hillside behind someone’s house and we have to make 4 2-person lifts of loaded mountain bikes over barbed wire fences before slithering through more bracken to the track at the bottom of the valley.

This track then runs alongside streams and rivers which eventually culminate in one big river crossing.  Whilst all the others have been rideable, this one has a bridge – at least it used to.  The only thing that remains of the bridge are the two concrete blocks either side of the river that the bridge used to stand on.  The alternatives of pushing our bikes across open grassland overlooked by a big house versus retracing our steps up hill, leads us to remove shoes and socks ready for the paddle across the river.  As I’m moving to hang my shoes over my bars, TSK decides to lob his shoes over the river onto dry land. 

Unfortunately one shoe ricochets off the gate on the other side and slowly starts to make its way downstream.  I try and race after it but I’m already in bare feet and slow on rocks even during triathlon races, never mind in a Welsh river in January.  TSK wades in fully socked.  At least shoe number 2 made it and he’s able to make more progress in stocking feet.  The shoe gets momentarily caught on a rock, buying us time and he manages to catch it just as it gets unattached and recommences steady progress down the river.  He helps haul my bike out around the gate and I walk up the mossy slope in bare feet.

I think this is the happiest I was all weekend.  My feet were numb from the cold meaning I was free to “feel” the moss between my toes for I was cold enough not to feel pain but somehow I could still feel the mossy softness, the tickle of tiny fronds of green on my foot pads.  Then once the novelty of that wore off, my feet felt great again back in my wool socks and fleecy leggings.

We dried off, re-shoed and started to push our bikes out of the valley to get the blood flowing to the feet.

Bus house parked up at a local campsite complete with porch, deck and "pond feature"

Walking off the hill climbs

Pee stop

Once we’d accessed a road, we descended down again right up until we started going back up again and then, after some minor lanes and villages, we were in Corris.

This is not actually the church in Corris but it looked like a place of worship and was next to the cafe... by then we didn't care.

And there was a church and outside it were bikes because right next to it there was a  café and it was open and they sold us sweet potato muffins and coffee and life was good.  There were around 6 other riders in there and two leaving.  We assumed their seats then Andrew chatted as I spoon fed my brain to get it to work again.

Finally, Andrew insisted we go back outside and I dawdled as much as was polite.  We’d arrived in Corris way earlier than I expected.  Eventually I realised this was because my route-choice from Corris was an out and back and we would return there just 1.5 hours later after obtaining one more checkpoint and scouting out an overnight camping spot which was later rejected in favour of drier climes.  Andrew reliably informed me that Cadair Idris was above us (through the rain) and he (the mountain) seemed to be generating all kind of wet weather patterns which didn’t necessarily exist on the other side of the valley.  Stopping there, next to a river, did not seem like a good idea. 

TalYLynn Church

We dawdled a bit, thinking about a high mountain pass to the Cross Foxes Inn (which TSK had passed many times but not gone in yet) and going back to Corris.  I eventually reasoned that my plan after Corris was to get offroad and therefore the best bivi spots.

Head torch and silhouette

Where we did bivi shall remain a mystery for the protection of all those involved.  Let’s just say that me refusing to budge far beyond that place and Andrew’s reluctance to eat anything other than pub food meant that in the morning we were back at Corris, wondering casually if the café was open (it wasn’t).

So 12 hours had passed in which we had eaten in a pub, camped outdoors, got rained on all night, snuggled in our tent until dawn rose on account of it being too wet and windy to be drawn to anything else before 7:40am.

I didn’t sleep brilliantly but nor did I sleep atrociously.  I found that my wool top (now damp) being stuffed up my down coat to dry out was only making me colder but somehow when I spread it over my thighs (the only bit of me not covered in double-down) my body temperature improved.  2-man, winter camp tenting in the wet actually worked out and I think snow would have only made it easier so long as it made it less damp not that a lightweight tent can hold *that* much water.

At 7:30 am we packed up and were gone by 8:30.  We rode from Corris along a minor road until we found a forestry commission carpark, furnished with a brew-hut… I mean, infoshelter.  It would have made a perfect bivi spot but you win some /  lose some.  Coffee made on a stove outdoors is so much richer… if a little gravelly.

On the turn to our next pass that day, we met another rider coming down.  I was eager to move on and stay warm but Andrew chatted away as I fumbled with some stuff and then re-arranged the hand warmers in my gloves.  As I fiddled, Andrew asked, “is it steep ahead”.  The guy went quiet.  He was quite obviously gesturing something behind my back, like if he said it out loud I would throw some kind of womany strop and refuse to proceed.  Finally I got him to admit out loud that the climb was a bastard.  I didn’t mind.  It was early, I had miles in the legs.  We set off up the bastard.

TSK later said the man implied that we (or I) would be walking most of it.

It really wasn’t so bad.  OK, there were long sections of steep climbing but I had badass gears on my bike and only stumbled twice.  The first, when I needed to eat as I got the shakes – so I did and I walked whilst I ate because riding, breathing and chewing at the same time is not a skill I posses without choking. 

Once I’d got going again, I also had a wobble as I zig zagged across the road.  My front wheel accidentally turned downhill instead of up and I had to fight so hard not to let the bike take both of us rolling down the hill, that I knew I couldn’t get going again, even if I could get my leg over the bike top tube.  So I walked to the next lower grade section – all of about 10m before getting back on and starting to ride again.  I rode the rest with a mixture of determination, heavy breathing, tactical deployment of my new muscles and being a contrary bitch.

Over the top of the climb, the descent was justifiably insane.  As steep as the uphill, it lasted about 5 minutes (not an Alp) of whoop and some cautious braking, after which we were deposited on a main road - the other side of the hill we'd been debating riding over at 6pm the night before.  We turned North in search of Andrew's target for the day - the Cross Foxes.

This newly refurbished, posh (Telegraph and Guardian reported and recommended bijoux) pub/grill could not have done any more to make us feel welcome.  We left our bikes under the deck and cautiously climbed the stairs into the warm of the conservatory entrance where we dripped onto the slate floor and hung our wet gear over the back of chairs before perching our slightly (though not too) mucky bottoms on tall stools.  The waitress predicted our "hot drinks" order and brought us our food with a smile and friendly chat about where we had been / were going.

We looked nervously at the newly painted cream and pale grey decor, the superb scenic wall art and they stoked the fire and never once mopped the floor or tutted.

Reluctantly we left and formed a plan to head back to base so that we weren't driving home exhausted.  When we realised our legs just weren't in it, the plan was cut even shorter and we started riding over the main road climb back to the HQ.  It doesn't take my brain long to tire of long main roads so by the time the downhill appeared, I was ready for minor lanes and again turned off.  This time I was gambling on a track marked both as a permissive path and "traffic-free cycle route" but not a surfaced road.

I wasn't sure how sure-footed a track it would be but it seemed to contour pretty well and I needed to get off that main road.  It didn't disappoint.  Solid enough to ride all the way yet wet, silent, glistening and sheltered enough to be absolute bliss.  We met one black labrador and his human who had a lovely chat and some purple sheep.

And then there was road again - minor lanes and they crossed the major road and we set off back up the other side of this valley with a plan to zig zag back on ourselves up the valley side then head over into the final run-in to HQ.

In one last stab-in-the-back, just after we'd been distracted by a young shepherd trying to get his flock across the road with a petulant sheep dog and one errant sheep, about the time we were looking for the zig zag road, the Garmin crashed.  Except it crashed surreptitiously so that we cruised past the zig zag and rolled down a fucking big steep hill.  Only when we had reached the bottom did I realise the Garmin had crashed and when I checked, we had to retrace our descent right to the very top.  Not only that but in my frustration I overlooked the fact that we were around 1.5 miles away from obtaining our only checkpoint of the day and with that, we turned too early as well as too late.

The zig zag was bad news.  Not a road at all but a muddy track that went up the valley side at a gradient of silly... over 33% according to Mr Garmin.  We were dismayed.  TSK didn't want to ride, I mean push, it (and neither did I) but I didn't want to go on the main road either.  We hadn't come all the way to Wales to ride on main roads and I was convinced this road turned into the lovely yellow B road which took us directly back to HQ.  Where the hell did it turn into a yellow road? (Garmin puts a big pink line over the route so you can't actually tell what road surface you're supposed to be riding on).

I zoomed out so I could see the road behind the big pink line, briefly and concluded that we had no more than 500m of pushing up this hill before it evened out and turned into a minor road.  We made a pact to do it and I prayed to the Karma that it would pan out and prayed to OS that their maps were accurate.

The views were worth it.

It was so steep I reverted to counting steps in between rest stops.  At first, 10 steps.  Then 5 steps, and rest.  It was so far to the top.  We were both, only just, managing to stay upright.  Then there it was, the gates, the view, the why, THE TARMAC.  I took the picture, less for the view but more to exercise the pride in taking myself to such a tired place and coming out the other side better for it.

The muddy splodge on my bag is where the whole thing toppled over into the mud and poo.  Oh well.

Down to a farmyard and through flocks of pheasants then onto the main road again briefly before turning off onto my B-road which cut across an evil valley (this time just a rideable 8%) before following the path of the river (gently uphill).  After a while there were no more evil climbs on it and TSK just about forgave me enough to enjoy the solitude of the b-road since we saw only 3 cars for the next 7 miles.  We considered stopping in the occasional layby / grassy field to brew up more coffee and instant food but instead chowed down on the nose-bag residing in my stem cells and the odd energy bar, just to get us the last 5km into the finish.

Ian Fitz was back.  My life completed, leaving before him and returning after him and within seconds he had sewn the seed of my next bike packing adventure in May. 

The next group to return to base were over the moon to be almost the last tribe back and had a sprint to the line amongst themselves in which a fat bike won.  We didn't steal their thunder by revealing, to the others in the HQ, that this group had been in the cafe when we arrived in Corris on Saturday and in the pub when we returned there 1.5 hours later.

We ate more tea and toast and changed into civilian clothing for the long drive home then climbed into our car with the cow poo and sweaty clothing and took it in turns to drive shifts.  

More than anything else this weekend reintroduced me to the joy of being outdoors just for the sake of being outdoors.  Reminded me that not every trip is going to be a disastrous wash out (because for all the rain, this wasn't a wash-out).  It was enjoyable and basic and mainly, real.

I can't wait for the next adventure.

60 miles, 2500m climbing
29 hours on the run of which...
8 hours riding (allegedly)
10 hours sleeping / fidgeting
11 hours faffing, brewing up, peeing and eating

Catchup: Weekends, Whinlatter, Stockton and Appleby in Westmoorland

I don't know where to begin with the last few weeks but I have to get it down because it's been great.

Bullet points may have to do it.

Today I've been open water swimming.  I was really annoyed to miss it yesterday - particularly because I missed it through my own laziness and lethargy.  This morning I got up to check if it was elsewhere and found that yesterday's session was altered to today due to the sailing club regatta.

So I swam my two laps.  In honour of it being 8 degrees in the water I am swimming in next weekend, I swam today in my toned-down thermal vest instead of the usual fleecy thermal vest.  I swam two minutes faster but god I was cold.  Not insufferably cold but hand-clawing  cold.  The waves were still rolling across the lake though not as epic as Tuesday night when I felt like I'd drank most of it.

Due to the cold, I got a wiggle on with the second lap managing to survive about 3/4 of the way around before I got bored of racing and ramped down to the finish.  First lap - 18 minutes, second 16 minutes.  Not bad.  2 minutes faster than last time I did full lengths but probably more to do with new goggles ergo less faffing.

I got home from Swimming and felt good enough to go for a run.  I went up the hill, then down it then up it again and finally down to the bottom of the valley before running back up the hill to base.  Around 4 miles - 4.5 miles I think.  I did none of it to the watch except for looking part way through and being disappointed at a lowly speed of 3.6 miles per hour but then I did stop a few times to say hello to nice dogs on their evening walks.

Still, kind of a brick session done.  It went well.  As I ran up the last hill, I was running surprisingly well and had just decided to take it easy before pulling something.  That decision made a little groin strain niggle.  I hope it doesn't get any worse.  I threw some yoga at it when I got back to the house.

Last weekend I spent with Norton Wheelers in Appleby.  We arrived about 8pm on Friday night to pitch the tipi before the sun went down.  We had a field shared with three camper vans and the use of the bunkhouse and its outside toilets, dining and drying room.  When I say outside toilets, think stone / wood building with full central heating and even an outside extension plug for us to plug our radiator into.

We were back out in the tipi at 10pm after going to meet everyone.  Let's just say it was effing cold for our first night.  I didn't sleep well.   I'd had the stress of the drive to get us there and then the excitement of seeing my friends.  I wasn't in the frame of mind for sleeping.  In the cold I stared at the ceiling of the tipi.  It was very orange.  There must have still been quite a lot of light.  I had two thermarests together in an attempt to be as warm as possible but unfortunately they slid against each other leading to a kind of canal-barge effect every time I moved.  I felt a little sea-sick.  More than anything I couldn’t get warm and I spent the entire time wondering  if I had really done the right thing. Had I made a complete dick of myself for buying this cold tenty thing.

I got up to go to the loo - as inevitably happens when camping in the cold.  In this respect it's no different from the vanu where you still have to get up to go to the loo… although in the tipi, Andrew and I both have enough space that one of us does not have to climb over the other to get out.

I burst into the cold night air and ran over to the toilets as fast as I could, revelling in the warmth within.  Then it was back out into the cold and the tipi and sweet sweet Warmth.  Absence of cold.  Maybe it wasn't such a stupid idea after all.

I got back on my stack of thermarests and figured out my position so my head was covered by the hood of my sleeping bag and there was just enough gap for me to breathe through.  Most importantly and noticeably there was no condensation in the tipi.  Even in the vanu, when cold, moisture from my breath would soak my pillow and make the end of my nose wet like a dog.  I fell into a deep sleep at about 3am in the tipi.  Only to be woken by the dawn chorus at 5:30am.  Oh well, it's the outdoor life and I do love it.  I take the dawn chorus over my neighbours TV in Sheffield any day.

We went out with Norton Wheelers on Saturday which was a big mistake.  We should have gone out with the girls but didn't want to wait another 30 minutes (after our early start).  So we hung on to the peloton for as long as possible and then, embarrassingly they waited for us.  I was glad they did because I enjoy their company even if I can't keep up.  There was Dave behind me making me feel better.

We watched minis skittering around the countryside on their rallyes and Andrew and I stopped to let a lamb back into a field.  There was a long climb between us and the café stop which separated the group good and proper.  The climb kept going and going.  False summit after false summit.  As dropped riders, my self, Steve and Andrew rode it in the full force of the head wind at ridiculously slow speeds and then it got steep and I am honest, that head wind did not really relent.  The highlight was reaching the top to sit in the long grass with the rest of the club watching Dave finish the climb behind me.  My phone was out of battery so I didn’t get a chance to picture the raft of bikes laid down on the grass in the foreground with the dales and lakes spread out before us.  It would've made a brilliant club photo.  Note to self: take camera next time.

Once we'd re-acquired Dave, we finished the climb (yes it went on) before a brief descent and some rolling hills with more minis.  Finally, we all sat down together and had tea and scones before heading on to the next big hill climb.  The club were heading on to Buttertubs before doing Tan Hill so Andrew and I decided that Tan Hill on its own would do.  We rode straight to Reeth in search of lunch.  It was a lovely hack along the river valley- beautiful roads and little or no traffic the entire 45 minutes.  The downside was the constant rain which had now started.  OK in wind/showerproof tops, we hammered on but then discovered we were cooling substantially along the way.  We holed up in a tea-room which required us to take our waterproof coats off before going in but at that point we were too cold and wet to argue and we towed the company line and said nice things to the old lady before demanding soup!

We put on all our layers and set about the Tan Hill climb.

That was far more enjoyable without the pressure of being last in line and holding everyone else up.  I couldn't have coped, wouldn't have allowed them all to stand around in those conditions waiting for anyone.  We saw few cars.  Again the climb went on for ages.  Many times we mused about where the inn may be.  It is well hidden and poorly marked on the map.  As we neared the top we were passed by a slow-moving (heavily loaded) moped with "Stella Artois" logo on the side.  We joked that Kev Saville had drunk all the beer in the pub and that was the recovery vehicle.

We were at the same time so pleased to see the pub and so cold that we didn' dare stop at it.  The pain of going back out in to the rain would have been too much so we rode on past as fast as we could.  Since it was levelling out, this was quite fast.

I added my water proof on top of my windproof.  It's a pretty sweaty waterproof but it wasn't going to matter for the descent.  My leggings weren't thick enough but I had my rain legs on to stop the wind from penetrating my wet leggings.  When the knees blew up in the wind, I knew about it and nearly fell of my bike trying to warm my legs up again.  The wind stayed with us all the way down into Kirkby Stephen where we stopped for more coffee.

They knew how to welcome guests and were very accommodating despite us being a bit drippy.

One last time we braved the weather though finally it was behind us.  We zipped back along the road of many crests in record time and speed and rolled into the bunkhouse about 45 minutes before everyone else, having done about three times more miles than us.  Dave was still making his way home.

We showered then enjoyed one of Kev Saville's excellent meals and set about drinking a few beers before the next instalment.

Thankfully because of the rain, the tipi was now nice and warm overnight.  The heater stayed on but I had to sit up this time and unzip my sleeping bag.  I was still suffering with the sea sickness so I ditched one of the thermarests though in doing so I noticed a nice wet patch under my mattress.  At least it wasn't on top of my mattress so I ignored it and carried on sleeping - very well until the wake-up call at 5:30 am again.

 When I got up it was clear I had made the boyscout error of leaving the tarp I put under the tent sticking out of the side so that the rain was just running off the tent and under our flysheet instead of sinking into the ground.  This explained the massive wet patch as everything was channelled under me - sleeping in a hollow compared to Andrew.  I set about mopping up the wet, realising to my delight that the un-zippable ground sheet meant I could unzip the whole thing and wipe underneath it without having to take the tent down.  I then unzipped the ventilation holes on
 the side of the tent and wiped up the tarp outside the tent before folding it neatly underneath us never to bother us again.  I didn't even have to go outside to fix the problem.

The mat went inside to dry out and all else was well with tipi world.

By now, most people had set about doing something wet and mad.  I was content to wait until it stopped raining then go for a run but my beloved walked head first into a low beam and gave himself a crick in the neck.  He wanted to go out and walk about.  I conceded and we went to Brough, Barnard Castle, High Force (spectacularly full waterfall) and Keswick to look at a stove for the tipi.  In the sudden glut of sunshine that appeared it felt more sensible to head back to the tipi and go for a run than it did to buy a stove for it.  We duly did this, me being grumpy that I had "wasted the day" but also that I felt like going for a run but didn't feel like going for a run all at the same time.

We got back too late to do anything but not so late as it was worth doing nothing so I got the instructions out for the tipi porch and set about adding that to our already substantial structure.  It wasn't the best erection (ha ha) but it would do.  It's more fiddly to set up than the tipi itself so will probably only get used for wetter more permanent stays of a few days or more but it was nice to be able to leave the shoes outside and to be able to get in and out without having to wipe up some wet drips off the floor.  It really isn't such a hastle but it was nice.

After we were done and we'd had a few visitors to see the vast expanse of our newly extended tent, we set about preparing for a BarBQ instead.  Inside-dwelling people were not convinced about the suitability of the weather outside whereas us more hardy types had set up the bbq and were waiting for everyone else to join us.  Reassured that there was a nice warm building to sit in, we moved all the salads across to the bbq area and I stood around outside pretending to be a man and poking the fire from time to time.

Hair smelling of smoke we retreated inside just in time for me to get tired and decide it was bed time.

This time the tipi was perfect.  We had a double doorway to set the rain at bay and there was no moisture coming from underneath.  I should've slept well but was routinely disturbed by the occasional gust of wind which whipped around the side of the valley and rustled the porch.  Finally at 5am (dawn chorus again) I got up and took the tipi down and hung it up inside to dry.  Andrew came to get me up at 7:30 am but it was too late for us to go out with the club again.  Reluctantly we watched them leave but then set about plotting our own day.

We selected a 35 mile route that I'd plotted in the garmin and went off to enjoy the rolling hills - and did they roll!  We did 750m climbing in 30 miles.  We ended up lunching in Orton.  Nothing more perfect than a chocolate factory and coffee shop combination.  Then headed home  - cutting the ride short to 25 miles by lopping a corner off.  Even the Garmin was on board and played the game.  We arrived back at base just after the rest of the club to find the children playing in the ford - so warm it was.  Andrew went for a shower and I told him I was going to play in the river with the kids.  I don't think he believed me but I got a length of crocodile paddling done up to the bridge and back.  No swimming but good open water adaptation as it was about 10 degrees and I was wearing riding short and tee shirt.

I wiped the mud off then removed all our belongings from inside to leave them to head home and us to enjoy the last few hours rental on the property.  We had second lunch which took us to about 3:59,  We were enjoying ourselves so much.

Even the ride home was enjoyable.  It was almost a perfect weekend.  Would've been better if only I'd been fitter and the weather had been a little more hospitable but then that's what you get for early May up North.  The tipi got a great testing.

I saw out April with a duathlon in Stockton on Sunday.  It felt like a shadow of the week before -a short event and all on roads.  The week before I'd been hammering about on my mountain bike for 2 hours.  Now I was making my way through Stockton at 9am with my bike, surrounded my MAMILS gingerly carrying their featherlight frames down the road instead of wheeling them.  I felt more comfortable once I found Ruth Marsden and managed to ditch a bike with a tag on it in transition.

I set myself a mini target of sticking with Ruth for the first run at least.  Ive noticed she starts slowly enough for me to hold it together and to my great surprise I was still with her towards the end of the first of two laps.  I tried to be close enough so that she wouldn't see me on the switch backs alongside the river but that didn't pan out too well for me as I started to get left behind on the hill climb which rises out of the river-crossing on a suspension bridge.

I lost a few places on the second lap which was probably more related to the fact I'd been outdoing myself for the first half.  Eventually I found myself in the company of a senior age-grouper and we talked (as much as possible) on our trot into transition.  Someone bellowed, "you're on for sub-55 minutes" at us so I opened it up, cheering  on my friend (I now knew his name was John) and we crossed the line in 54 minutes, 59.45 seconds.

I was surprised how little I hurt when I got on the bike but then found it hard to get going.  There's a small incline out of transition, soon followed by a hairpin bend.  I'd heard that this course was twisty-turny but didn't realise by how much.  Someone mentioned 7 corners.  I didn't realise they meant 7 corners on each lap - and there's 5 laps.  I wondered how many could count to 5 successfully.  I struggled and ended up using my Garmin to track my laps based on the distance I'd ridden.

After two loops of the city, I'd finally figured out the circuit enough to open up a bit although my legs never really warmed up enough for me to properly enjoy the riding.  I spent most of the ride playing cat and mouse with a guy who looked a little uncomfortable on a bike.  He would roar past me on a climb and I'd roar back past him on the corners and on the headwind sections where Red dragon bike made all the difference to me, whilst he toiled in the wind on his road bike.

On the fourth lap I heard him moving to pass me and he dropped back again as I pointed out I was going around again.  "Really?" he said, which meant I had either  over-counted or had been riding at 20% faster speed than my running position in the race.   As I rejoined the course I started to wonder where everyone else was.  I felt like there were about 10 of us left on the course.  As time moved on though I saw other riders ahead of me including Ruth's Les Brutelles friend who had punctured and was walking it home.

I gave encouragement to a bloke who was standing by the side of a roundabout looking upset and pained, telling him, "C'mon, ride it home".

I span happily into transition, trying to put aside the feeling that most of the rest of the world had already finished and glad that I didn't have to face another two laps of that run course - only one.

I passed a Tees university competitor and encouraged him to get running again.  He did so and passed me back and then was passed by the bloke off the bike.  Apparently I was being pretty good at bringing the best out in other people, just not myself.  I started to get a bit annoyed with people passing me by then but I just couldn't run any faster.  The only thing that cheered me up was the sight of plenty of people still running the outward leg on the other side of the river.  I can understand now how people have a special fondness for Outlaw.

Finally, after a circuit around the student accommodation of Stockton I was looking at that suspension bridge for the last time and was pretty happy to be running across it within spitting distance of the finishing line, having left NYP John well behind on the bike.

I was enjoying racing so much (or was it that I was focusing on getting back to transition to get my bike so I could finally sit down?) that I nearly overshot the finish line.  It was only some kindly other competitor who directed me sideways across the line.  This is why I have no finishing shot - because I was pretty bewildered to be there.

I thanked the lady mayoress for her city's hospitality and set about celebrating my 55 minute PB with the woman who pushed me to it then quickly scurried off to find my  fleece and get warm.

The contrasting weekend before we went to Whinlatter for the first of two triathlons in two weeks.  I was at Whinlatter Extreme, not with the intention of racing it but with the intention of getting round it without coming to a grinding halt.

Whinlatter started well with a good weather report and booked into the campsite. The folks checked in first and set the basis for the corral. The owner of Lane Foot campsite came to say hello. There's nothing like a campsite where the owner likes running a campsite.

I settled the kit in the Vanu and made my dinner. Skiddaw was too tempting to ignore for the next day. Dad and I started to plan our respective challenges for the day ahead.

I set off for Skiddaw on the bike, mulched about through Keswick and all kinds of minor and major roads. I started to wonder if I was actually going to hit any offroad at all. I was about to give up when I reached the car park which felt like I was 1/3 way up the hill already.

I set off up the trail, riding at first then giving in to walking. I quickly realised that if I carried on like that I would not get any kind of a result on Sunday so reluctantly I ate lunch out of the wind then headed back down the hillside to a fork in the bridlepath and set off up the valley below the mountain.

I settled into a day of faffing and started playing about with my saddle height and position.  Both needed adjusting to get some power in and to stop me straining my hamstrings.  I learnt from last year but had dropped the saddle too far now - or rather it had slipped down.  I hopped back on the bike and was first met by a couple of hiking ladies - one who proclaimed, "Oh my!" before adding, "Keep pounding along!".  I wondered just how haggard and demented I looked??? I thought I was enjoying myself.

I rounded the corner of the mountain and started up the river valley.  I knew there were some  bluffs on this section but they didn't go on for long.  A superb trials rider might have been able to do them but most mortals on a rigid tail couldn't so I walked them.  It didn't take me long to get back on my bike and bouncing over the remaining rocky sections.

I came across two walkers sitting by the path - not unusual - but they were rather large and one was smoking a ciggy.  Clearly the good weather was bringing everyone out.  As I passed, he commented how brave I was.  "Really, this is just the warm up" was on the tip of my tongue but I bid them a nice day and got on with it.

Finally at the head of the valley I saw bikers coming the other way and kids frolicked in the river.  Some were heading off for canyoning or caving, wearing harnesses and helmets and boiler suits.  I was preferring my 3/4 length leggings in the sun.

The path down was not hard but it was long and dropped me out at the bottom of the next peak - Blencathra.

I finally found a bridlepath off the hill - all of which dumped me quite a way from home.  I stopped once I reached the disused railway line that leads back to Keswick and ate whatever was left of my lunch sitting on a railway sleeper bench that had been baked in the sun and surreptitiously out of the wind so that it had been collecting the hot sun all day.

As I left, some walkers took my spot and started plotting to jump out on their friends as they passed.  Well into their 60's I was tempted to stick around to see… and to make sure no-one had a heart attack.

The ride home was calling though so I set about picking my way through the hoards of leisurely walkers and families and found my way back to the lanes through the back of Keswick.  By the time I got home I'd done 18 miles - not really the easy poottle I had planned.  Nor the summit I was fancying.

Race day dawned a little trepidly.  The vanu on its last legs, I eased it up to race HQ and stuck the bonnet up in the car park to let it cool down.  At least it got me there.

Number in-hand, I wasn't letting anything dampen my day.  I got racked and headed for the start line in the company of greatness - the female winner of the race I was so dramatically pulled out of last year.  Within 5 minutes of the race she had disappeared from my view.

I settled in to a calm rhythm.  Again, the point of this day being to finish.  The first mile is a frustrating loop designed to thin out the pack.  Great for those up front.  Not so good for those of us at the back which just find it kind of pointless and annoying.  I just enjoy it more when the hill climb finally comes and I can see a view.  And oh what a view as we climbed the shoulder of Grizedale pike.  Looking across to see the cairn we climbed to last year, there was the satisfaction that we were higher than last year and this year there was scenery to be seen.

The chap in front of me kept stopping to wonder.  I kept wishing he'd just get on with it.

We met Ian at the top who pointed us back down a line of flags seemingly stuck in the grass with no point to them except to direct us towards a slight of a path about 500m away. 

It was at this point that I decided my shoes needed replacing as I slithered around gingerly on the grass and the occasional slippery rock.  I was painfully slow and the sweepers kept having to wait for me.

I passed through the point at which I slammed down on my own foot last year and set about enjoying the descent apart from a niggling ache for needing a wee.  Having caught up the bloke in front, I decided the best place for that wee was the forest, I dived off to one side - choosing my time to go and hopefully before the sweepers passed and completely missed me.  I got shorts full of pine needles as the first sweeper passed and I rushed to get out onto the path before I was completely forgotten. As I caught up the sweeper, we passed the other guy having his wee in the trees and I laughed about how I had tricked him into being last in the race.

Back in transition I reassured his wife he wasn't far behind me.

We set off on the bikes pretty close - me in front - but by the first descent he'd caught me up.  Clearly a fan of the downhills.  I tried to sit on his wheel but he was gone.  I didn't have to worry for long though as I caught him on the first steep climb of the day.  We were both walking.  It was really steep,  slippy grass. I'd be surprised if any one rode it.  I asked if he was alright.  Yes, but every bit of his body was aching - even bits he didn't know he had.  Apparently, he's not a fan of uphill biking.

I didn't see him again.  To be fair - I didn't see anyone else again either.

Once we were back on the better aspects of the course - the bits that aren't diversions, everything made much more sense and was very enjoyable all over again.  I challenged myself to ride bits that I'd walked before - what a difference 12 months makes - and found the energy to have a laugh with photographers.  

The only bit I bailed on was steps coming into base for the last time.  I need to go back and ride the bastards and get them out of my system.  I think they appear just as my head is stopping working and I don't want to hurt myself before the last run so I always jump off and walk them.

Back on foot and everything felt like it should.  I was still running at the top of the first climb.  Much better than last years race.  This time  I even ran past the organiser as I saw him heading in the other way.

I got into the woods and was still running by the time I reached the tops.  I stretched my arms out to embrace the summit and started the long haul down, forgetting that it actually goes along for quite a way, the marshall sitting in a windproof shelter collecting numbers.  I'm pretty sure I'm the last on the hill and suggest that I was only waiting for the rain showers to ensure it really was an "Extreme" race as promised. By now there's ramblers associations at large, rife across the hillside .  No pity today - just awe… at least they were struck by something.

I reached the down hill, the sweepers coming up in the other direction.  I saw Jim's wife walking up the opposite way.  Clearly he is still racing and I am glad - glad for him and glad that I am not last.  I know from experience that this is it before the finish.  There's one small climb to get over.  Mum and dad are sitting on a ruck - eating as usual and feed me some Robinson's barley water.  It tastes delicious after energy bars and fake jelly beans.  The last downhill  is bliss and pain all rolled into one.  I'm itching to get my jersey back on and relieved to have finished but I've had such a good race I don't want it to stop.  I feel like I've paced it all perfectly - even if that pace was slow. That was my last endurance target of the year - from here on in it all gets a bit faster.

Poor Progress

1 week and 24 hours ago I gave myself 4 weeks to get fit enough to go out training with my team without embarrassing myself.

1 week and 1 hour ago I crashed and wrote-off the rest of last week.

I managed:

Monday - Sod all
Tuesday - a 36 minute ride to work and a 1:51 ride home at a bit of a leisurely pace taking in the bike polo course and chips on the way.
Wednesday - A trip to the Sheffield Tri Club committee meeting on my moutain bike and home again - total 36 minutes again
Thursday - A 1:25 long ride to work taking in 327m of climbing (150m of this were in one go).  It took me 44 minutes to come straight home but then last week (straight after the 3 Peaks) it was taking me 49 minutes.
Friday - Took the tourer for the first time in the wind and going over potholes with my still-bruised shoulder took me 41 minutes to get in and 55 minutes to get home - though I was carrying the behemoth laptop.

On Saturday I started with a rest day and trying to decide whether or not to do the 13.5mile Windgather fell race.  I end up galavanting around town then doing a ton of stuff on the house and being quite tired-out actually.

By 4 am I have made my mind up that I will definitely do the fell race but then I'm so excited I can't get back to sleep and end up sleeping-in in the morning.

Today I get up and find that Cat Faux is world age group Champ.  I feel measly.

Question is, do I reset the clock on my 4-week limit or leave myself 3 weeks to haul-ass up to some sort of fitness level?

I think that only turbo will tell.Rollering in a new house... absolutely terrifying but found a new spot eventually, lost my head in the music and ended up mashing the pedals like never before. Satisfying.