The Dean 300km Audax: The First Attempt

10 days before The Dean ride, pleasant 12 degrees C temperatures were forecast.  As the week passed, the weather warnings started rolling in for snow and high winds but my determination was set.  I duly blinkered myself to the forecast, hoping it would be over-stated dramatism on behalf of the Met.  Marcus Scotney tried to dampen my spirits by sharing the, "windchill to minus 5" domesday scenario but I just packed more clothes.

We checked into the travel lodge on Friday afternoon at about 3pm.  Plenty of time for faffing and it was rife.  I hadn't had too much time to sort my bike out and a few changes that I had made in the week had not been ridden on yet.  There was that annoying low squeaking sound that came from the front brakes from time to time but not often enough to remind me about.  There were batteries to protect Garmins against the cold and food to pack and locks to sort and a saddle position that I hadn't really tested in anger.

The Travel Lodge was a steamy nightmare and not in a good couples relationship way.  I gave up on TSK as a bed partner at 2am and crawled under the desk onto my roll mat and sleeping bag (prepared for such a scenario) to get myself a solid 3 hours sleep before the alarm went off at 5am.  I was solidly grumpy when it did.

We hardly spoke two words to each other as we breakfasted dressed and headed to the start but it was only through lack of enthusiasm and no disrespect was intended.  He asked, as we departed with the group, if I'd locked the car and I said I hadn't.  He gracefully set off back to the car park to lock the new car as I rode along with the group.  We were split at a merge off the roundabout and, getting dropped further back, I put in an effort to get around the only other lady rider and two men, onto the back of 6 or so other riders at "the front".  After a few short minutes I concluded that the pace was too fast and dropped off.  Maintained a pace for a while as the other lady caught me but she was of a mind to sit on my wheel rather than chat so I decided to stop, sort out my saddle position which was feeling a little crooked and wait for TSK.

He arrived, asking if I was alright as I tooled around with my saddle and we plodded along together for a while until he announced that he was diverting later in to Tewkesbury to buy some new cycling shorts since he'd neglected to pack any and was presently riding in boxers... and big fleecy leggings.  I sent him on his merry way and proceeded to be left further and further behind.

As it started to snow I was met by two American accented riders asking, "Are you doing this crazy snowy bike ride then?" One was fully bagged up and looked like he'd been out overnight but no, they were riding my event and he'd just ridden up from Cambridge the previous day for kicks.  They were late to the start.  They also left me for dust.

Eventually I reached a rail crossing.

It was closed.

I looked.

No trains left, no trains right.

I checked the route.

And waited.

And waited.

I decided I had time to check out those brakes.  To my frustration I realised that one of the front brake pads was sitting solidly against the brake disc.  Not enough to make a substantial noise (except very occasionally with just the right pressure) but enough to have imposed a substantial resistance against the front wheel for the past 20 miles. I pressed the lap button to depress myself into finding out approximately just how much difference.  Actually, 1.4 miles per hour of difference.

I'd averaged 10.7 mph (level crossings counted) and was presently running a risk of missing the time check for the first checkpoint.  I got a wiggle on and then the snow got more serious.  I resentfully relented to change my coat and put on my rain legs to protect my quads from the cold and wet.  If I was going to be out all day, I was damn well going to be comfortable.

It was snowing so hard I resorted to putting my hood under my helmet - partly to keep my hair dry but also to add the peak to my helmet to stop the snow getting in my eyes as it blizzarded down.  This was not light snow.

When it finally relented and I changed back into a lighter coat (but left the rain legs on to last the day) it was pleasing to see a gentle coating of snow all around making the landscape a whiter shade of pale and defining the Malverns in the distance which suddenly looked like proper mountains.

I almost rolled out the other side of Stow-on-the-Wold, swearing as I detoured via the Tesco for the guarantee of a quick Mars Bar and a receipt from the Kiosk and customer toilets.  I was within 30 minutes of the time limit and a bit on the edge.  Andrew had texted me to say he would be in the cafe in Newent as I was arriving and I should look for him there.

Onwards then to a new country and Newent, over the Welsh Border.

I crossed the river Leadon on my way to Newent... or rather the river nearly crossed me.  Sandstone red water lapped at the road's edge and flood warnings hinted of what was soon to come.  The water swelled under the limited bridge space, boiling from the other side like stale blood.  As I thanked my way across the concourse which felt more like the Mont Saint Michelle sliproad than a B-road in rural Gloucestershire, a full-on fire engine roared the other way past me and I hankered down, shoulders braced to the rush of wind following it across the "bridge".  Was there any more insane traffic this ride could throw at me?

I missed the "Welcome to Wales" sign - or there isn't one.  In my rush to get away from Stow, I reasoned with myself I would need 3 hours to do the 38 miles.  I then forgot all this and decided that the cut off time was at 11:30, not my intended arrival time.  I spent the last 30 minutes absolutely burying myself trying to make up the time and avoid being late.  I couldn't even get bottom gear and I powered up all the hills.  There was no time for stopping now!  I rolled into Newent at 11:28 and as soon as I arrived realised what I had done.  I had made up 1 hour slack in the time periods but in doing so I had nearly destroyed my legs.  TSK was impressed by my time.  Me less so.  He left, I sat down to my early lunch to ponder my life choices over cake and lasagne.

This time I got my papers out and had a proper look and a proper plan.  My next stop was Chepstow - where one can chose between the town and the services 10km away on the other side of the Severn Bridge.  TSK and I agreed that the services would be best as the bridge would be cold and windy and therefore we would not want to do it when cold, having just stepped out of a nice warm Chepstow cafe.  It seemed like a good plan.

The ride into Chepstow was enchanting.  Distant views of the Malverns, Highland Cow standing face into the wind on the hillsides above the Severn estuary, some icicle bushes - where passing motorists had splashed water into the bushes which had frozen into a labyrinth of inch long tentacles dangling precariously from the evergreen leaves.  I continued to mash my way up hills in too-big a gear until eventually I decided I needed to stop and fix it.

As I huddled over my bike, a whippet came past and asked if I was OK.  "Fine thanks" I said, "just messing with my gears".  As I looked up I realised he was wearing shorts.  I sent him on his way.  Jesus, don't get cold, but thanks for asking, like!

The descent to Chepstow was close on Epic for the conditions and my hands turned to solid ice so I could hardly brake.

Then Chepstow hit.  It was familiar from times I have dropped off TSK for the 600km Brian Chapman Memorial ride and brought back bad memories of another sleepless night in a hotel room that was too hot.  I circulated the one-way system with a BMW that I was to see three more times in town as I bypassed the bypass clearly and he got stuck at light after light, frustrated by this blue cyclist that kept crossing his path.

Finally I climbed up the wall out of Chepstow.  Still, there was warmth in my hands - finally - and then I dropped down to a dual carriage way again, saw the BMW one more time as I joined the bike path to the Severn Bridge and then the biggest challenge of the day.

The 40 mph North Westerly winds had struck and there was me, riding West / East across a fucking motorway suspension bridge.  As I angled 35 degrees into the wind, riding exactly 1m from the edge of the bike lane to avoid colliding with the 2 inch twists of steel separating me from the rest of the motorway, the breeze blew a b-flat note through the eyelets of the holding bolts.  No other cyclists were to be seen, just two stoic motorcyclists passed the other way, cautiously doing 10 mph past me.  I held my breath, squealed just a little bit every time the wind tugged my front wheel taking me two feet closer to those steel ropes and each time I wobbled back violently towards the edge.  The steel pillars and maintenance gurneys offering me occasional let up - but not much.  It felt like I didn't breathe again until I got to the other side.  No, I didn't breathe again.  I laughed.  I had survived it.

99 miles done, and I wasn't even suffering 100 mile bottom.

I couldn't quite believe it was 99 miles.  It felt like lunchtime.  Possibly because lunchtime is when I'm normally half way through a ride.  Possibly because I ate a toastie and a large hot chocolate.  The waitress asked if I wanted large, I said, "I'd say yes to anything you offer me right now."

Some riders were lurking in the corner, "I'll try anything once", I said, "but that is something I don't want to repeat in a hurry".  They laughed.  They knew exactly what I meant.  When I sat down to eat I was shivering.  I hadn't been cold outside but stopping indoors was doing nothing to warm me up sufficiently.  Only the consumption of hot items was working.  My rest stops were clearly necessary now.

I textd TSK.  He said I wasn't far behind him and he'd probably wait for me at Waitrose at Malmesbury.  I thought that'd be nice, as I ate my food but then I didn't want him to wait and miss the cut off and I didn't want him to think I didn't want him to wait so I didn't send a reply.  I didn't want to miss out on my stop at Chepstow - I couldn't.  I was really starting to need my break by then.  The climb into Chepstow had been hard and the bridge harder.

I'd lost time on my way to Chepstow too.  I was back to being 30 minutes ahead of time - although I'd ridden an extra 10km since the control to get to the services, I still counted myself as a little late when I left the services at bang-on the cut-off time.  If I were to lose any more time to - for example - a mechanical or a longer stop, then that would be it for my day.

As I rode out of Chepstow services, the wind started to pull at the electrical pylons and cables, making whistling and whining noises.  I plunged into the beautiful Forest of Dean, thankful of its shelter from the 40 mph gusts as the wind rustled the trees but not me.  I shared a moment with a roe deer as we made eye contact  across a clearing.  Her eyeing me with intrigue and calm - ready to bound away if necessary but sure of her ability to outrun me and my mechanical device.  She was absolutely right to be sure of herself as I hauled myself and my load up the hill.

Note to self - secure locks on audaxes may make me more relaxed but only serve to extend, not shorten, the time I spend in cafe's.

There were few vehicles in the forest which made it a very special place to be.  In fact I wondered why there weren't more people around.  Farmers don't stop for the weather though and after exiting the forest I had my third scary traffic encounter for the day as I squeezed into a high-sided verge to allow a tractor carrying two hay bails on spikes to pass precariously close, shedding the loose straw from his load out of the trees and onto my head.  That's it, I was done with traffic.

Soon I was fighting my way up to the Somerset monument, staring at my Garmin OS Map as the reality of a chevronned climb (that's >14% or 1 in 7).  I made a deal with myself that if I rode this I could walk up Hackpen Hill later when it got dark and was snowing.  It seemed like a good deal and just as I was about to slalom it to take the steepness out, a motorist obliged and kept me on the straight and narrow.

I had reached the top of the world for a while.  I swore at the monument before commencing my down hill to Malmesbury and hoping the rain would hold off.  It didn't and by the time I was joining a folorn looking TSK, it had started to snow again.  I inadvertently left my glove outside and joined TSK in the cafe for dinner - which turned out to be quick but insignificant (cheese and bacon pannini) and a desperately needed fresh fruit salad.  It's amazing how a day subsiding on scooby snacks suddenly encourages a healthy desire for vitamins.

We left Malmesbury control dead on time again.  I was happy I now had a navigator to follow - I'd already made a few minor navigational errors on my own.  Whilst I had quickly spotted them, retracing my pedal strokes, even a few tens of metres was time-consuming.

I also let myself go in terms of planning and effort though - not knowing when we had to be at the next control or how far away it was, I stopped pushing myself nearly as hard.  That said, with it snowing and the effort I'd already put in to not much gain, I don't think I could have gotten more out of myself.  I always had it in the back of my head that Hackpen Hill was to come and for that I would need all of my energy.

We left Malmesbury in the dark and snow, now eating into our time to do the next stage as we were well after the cut off time when we left.  We were onto familiar territory now and as we passed through the back of Wootton Bassett I was drawn top stop by the old house, take a look at the place but we had no time.  Instead, we had those climbs.  The approach to Broad Town hill went remarkably well. Even the climb went well.  The drop off the back was fine.

TSK gave me options - do we really want to do Hackpen hill?  As the snow came down around us, I resolutely dismissed the option of riding into Swindon to get on a train to Oxford.  I'd battled hard to get this far and wasn't prepared to throw in the towel yet - time cut offs or not.  At least the experience from this 300 would inform the next.

Even Hackpen hill was fine but as the tyres started to slide out from underneath us in the snow which was now settling on the road, we both got off and walked to the top.

The ride into Marlborough was familiar.  Flashbacks to 10 years ago, watching santa arrive at the golf club in his helicopter to bring all the rich kids their Christmas presents.  We dug out some food to eat - TSK initiated it and I ate crisps wearing gloves which largely amounted to me stuffing my face into the open mouth of the packet and forcing as many broken crisps into my gob as possible without dropping them on the floor.  A passing pissed woman exclaimed, "OH MY GOD BIKES!" in the darkness whiwch I took as an expression of awe.

One climb back over the ridgeway into Sparsholt led us to the descent off the back into the Lambourne downs which was slow and un-enjoyable.  In days gone by I loved these roads for the plentiful cornflowers, lavender and lush green fields of the horse race tracks, offset by bright white fences and dirt tracks across the side of the ridgeway.  All I could see was darkness and flecks of white - mesmerising, sparkling but - essentially dull, repetitive and cold.

As I shimmied down the hill a little behind for some reason, I saw a bike on its side in the road.  There were clearly two people and hoped that no-one was hurt.  Thankfully, the downed bike was in a layby, the rider having just repaired a puncture and being ready to set off on his way.  Knowing he was OK and unable to stop because of the cold, I continued - suddenly aware of how vulnerable we were.  If I had a puncture in those conditions, I would not have been able to get going again.  Even if I had managed to successfully change a tube without puncturing (my record for new tyres, even indoors, is not a strong one), I doubt my hands would have been good for much for a long time after and, given the shivering I had experienced at each of the last 2 controls, I was starting to have serious concerns for the rest of my body.

 I pushed hard to reach Membury.  I couldn't remember the cut-off time here but thought it was around 11pm.  We rolled through the gate at 10:54 and crossed the grass directly to the petrol station.  I hardly picked up my electronics off the bike - instead whipping up to the counter with my wallet and procuring a fruit juice and a receipt.

I then followed this up with an order for tea.

I couldn't actually eat anything and started to shiver again.

The tea went some way to warming me up but was too hot to drink and offset by the fruit juice out of the fridge.  Now I started to feel sick too - properly sick.  TSK ate a sandwich.  I thought that was a great idea but just couldn't face it.  Instead I went to the toilets and stood under the hand drier for an inordinate length of time.  It felt good and genuinely went a long way to remove moisture from my leggings and around my midriff and lower back.  I then had a pee, washed my hands and dried them some more for a long time before returning to finish my tea.

Before leaving, I shook out four heat pads - one for each glove and one for each shoe.  I changed into dry socks and changed my wool jersey for a dry one.

As we were preparing to leave, the other rider with the puncture rolled by and into the main services.

We didn't see him again and assume he booked into the Travel Lodge there for the night.  It'a good job I didn't realise this as I might have been tempted to do the same.  Still, despite my temptation to call for a taxi, I did not.  We dressed for success and I even changed out of my rain legs and into my long waterproof trousers to at least keep the wind off my whole legs now.

It worked.  I rolled out of Membury feeling toasty warm.  I downed an excessively sugary drink I'd made up and proceeded then into Stanford in the Vale where we had to collect the colour of a bench in the village as proof of passage before rolling out across the flatlands and back into Oxfordshire.  It was an absolute pleasure to know we had no more major climbs to face.  This walking through the snow was starting to get tedious.

 Normally we'd avoid A-roads like the plague but at 2am the A 420 was practically dead.  The traffic that was passing was not at all threatening, despite being confined to a single clear lane by the snow.  Everyone gave us loads of room and riding here was much safer than risking a slide and a crash on deserted B-roads.  Normally there's nothing quite like seeing your first road sign indicating the distance to your final destination.  Sadly, when you're on the A-420, the first sign for Oxford that we saw still had 9 miles to go.  9 very long miles.  Even then, when we reached the pubs and clubs of Oxford, the burger vans, the late night taxis, the Travel Lodge was still around 4 miles down a long and boring town road, now riddled with potholes and seams and slippery white lines hidden underneath the snow.

Our completion time limit came and went.  Our guestimated 20 minutes late time came and went.  TSK wanted to stop and get his proof of passage receipt earlier than the finish point - legitimate for this ride, but I could not stop.  The prospect of spending two minutes in the cold with my body temperature continuously dropping was horrific and I continued to ride all the way to the hotel, pausing only to get a cash machine statement before crossing the road with the intention of falling into bed.

Of course this was when the real challenge began - out waiting the employee on the desk who was - possibly just intrigued - by what we were going to do with the bikes we wheeled onto the mat to drip and drop snow just like your average workman's boot.  We semi undressed in the public foyer, took a stash of free newspapers into our room and then waited with another cup of hot tea for the boy to stop doing whatever he was going and at least go to the toilet / go to bed.

As soon as his back was turned we had bikes inside in a shot and safely stowed on opened-out newspapers to drip the night away.  Although there was a slightly damp carpet, we didn't make a mark and left the place clean and tidy the next day.

We took it in turns to shower / stand by the heater then fell into bed at 3am.  Propped up by life and the wonderful travel lodge policy which meant we didn't have to check out until 12, we slept until 9am then got up, loaded the van and drove home as soon as we could. Mainly to mitigate the time it would take our fatigued minds to drive through windy conditions and partly to out-run the potential mass exodus of business workers who are contractually obliged to travel on a Friday and a Sunday every week.

With only one driver change-over we surprised ourselves with our expedient arrival at home.

Have I spent the last two days recovering from an Audax-induced hangover?  Hell yes.

Did I want to do another?  A snowy one - no.  Not doing that again in a month of snowy Sundays.  It hurt.  TSK agreed that I'd done 400km effort.  Too big a step, too much risk if anything went wrong. Next time I'd just cancel.

A 300km - yes.  I'm glad I've popped the 300k cherry.  Keen to do another one because I know I can get inside the time limit given normal conditions, no minus -9 degrees wind chill next time.

I've learned lessons about what I can carry on this distance ride and still hope to make any time limits imposed.  My big lock is not one of those things - though plenty of other stuff will still come with me for comfort levels.  If we're going to call Audax speed training for long distance then let's do that.  I can work on my load carrying capacity elsewhere.  SO here's to Skeggy - hoping - for my next 300km event.

I'm looking forward to it.

Split analysis:

1. 18.18 mile to the level crossing 11.3 mph HR 141!
2. 6 minutes stuck at the bloody crossing and messing with brakes
3. 26 mile 10.6 mph HR 139
4. 26 mins going through Stow
5. 35 mile 12.6 mph HR 141
6. 52 mins cafe lunch stop
7. 35.3 miles 11.1mph climbey bit to Chepstow HR 120
8. 40 mins tea stop
9. 27 miles 10.4 mph HR 131
10. 32 minute Waitrose stop
11. 22 miles 10.2 mph HR 132
12. 7 minutes crisp stop in Malbrorough
13. 11 mile to services 8.8 sorry mphs HR 120
14. 39 minutes rewarming stop - shouldn't have! 
15. 12.72 miles 8.6mph to last info control
16. Finally, a 1 minute stop
17. 17 miles to finish. 8.8mph in the snow. HR 113. Just about given up.

Total time: 21:20.  Riding time: 18:17 ish

Snow

It's been a wonderful snowy week of battling my way to work through the fluffy stuff - with a little battling my way home through the ice on Friday.

It's left me exhausted but has been an excellent exercise in just gettin up and doing it all again.

On Wednesday I accidentally overshot and kept riding.  On Thursday I extended again but rode home the quick way and on Friday I stuck to the edge of the ice alongside the shelter of buildings to find all the available concrete and then rode home down the roads to get in quick in time for tea - but then it was 10 pm.

It has been an insane week.

I have rested this weekend.  I haven't touched a bike except to maintain them and I went outside only to walk to the pub and drink too many beers - 2 is too many nowadays.

TSK and I talked about our plans for the Dean in 2 weeks time and we decided to ride it separately so that he can enjoy it without waiting for me and I can get much out of it as a solo ride without coat-tailing and I can pace myself how I want.

It's nice that we're both excited about something that we can share.

I have tried not to feel guilty this weekend and have succeeded.  It was a planned rest week and I am ignoring the fact that I only achieved 30% of my target last week and calling this an actual rest week.  Besides all those snowy miles are worth double.  I hope it will encourage some strength to come through since I stupidly entered the Mag 7 which is next weekend.  No time to train or plan for it.  I just have to go out and ride and it's in Bradfield so I am dreading it but my FOMO means I have entered and I hope I will enjoy it as much as I did last year. 

A "fun" warm up for the 300.

Cold, early, long, then short.

The week was great!  Having not done any riding on Sunday, I vowwed to get out on Monday early and I did, leaving around 7 to watch the end of the sunrise through the clouds as I climbed up Rails Road to the top of the Rivelin Bank and then over the top into the edges of Stannington.

I soon realised I'd made a mistake, if I'd stuck to a right turn up to Dungworth I might have stood a better chance of avoiding traffic.  As it was, I joined the school run through the edges of Stannington, rode over to Wortley where I passed my boss's house going the opposite way at 8:30.  I added myself to the queue of traffic waiting to climb jawbone hill or turn into the trail of cars heading into Sheffield and enjoyed being the road block all the way over to Grenoside where I took the direct route over to Eckington and joined the bridle path that runs in the shadow of the M1.  If you're ever passing just North of Meadowhall and see the cranes, the bike lane passes the other side of those, down in the valley... and IT IS COLD down there.

I braved it out but by the time I reached the office I could only just feel my fingers and as the heat rushed back into them in the office, I tried not to cry as the pain surged through the ends.

I did yoga on Tuesday and had a slightly easier day on Wednesday as I prepared for a customer meeting so on Thursday I was not going to hold back. 

I was up at 5 and out the door, wearing ALL the clothes to compliment my fear of cold.  By the time I got half way up the hill, I had to stop and shed a layer down to my fleece and high-vis gillet.  Climbing back up to Bradfield this time - my ploy to avoid traffic was working. 

Down the other side to Dungworth reservoir and up to the Loxley Road, crossing to climb up to Higher Loxley then drop down again to Jawbone hill and in through the same route.  The sunrise from the top of Bradfield hill made was incredible .  Sooner or later though, the snow started to chase over the hillside so I got a wiggle on.

Down in to Eckington, patiently waiting through the traffic to get on my bike lane then diverting off onto the dirty path through the industrial estate that secretly takes me to my bike lane. 

By the time I reached the cranes I was ice-chilled to the core.  I stopped, got off the bike and unwrapped my big coat, threw the high vis away into my caradice as it's the sweatiest garment I know and started riding again.  The big coat allowed the venting of sweaty fleece and the extra gloves were enough to stop the complete freeze experienced on Monday morning.

I arrived at work with a huge grin on my face, *just* in time for the morning meeting and had one of the best days at work.  It's easy to wobble home from a day like that but something just clicked and rather than wobble, I raced home through the streets, riding over the big hill past the Northern General and stamping out quite the pace.

On Friday I had a rest day in an attempt to get the car into the garage for its final MOT before I get rid of it.

On Saturday I was determined to get out twice this week so like an optimist, I dressed early and set off out the door.  It was already raining hard and because it was raining hard, I didn't think it would be icy cold so I wore a soft shell and took my summer coat, put my rain trousers on and started riding.  I did wear by big thick gloves.  I only wore a cotton cap. 

By the time I got to the bottom of the hill and set off up the Rivelin Valley I knew something was wrong.  My feet had been bugging me for days so I had moved my cleats before I left and the right foot really wouldn't settle.  So I popped into the toilets to get some shelter and messed with my cleats, added my summer coat with the hood up and put my helmet back ontop of it.  I then took it off again and added my buff around my neck to stop my chin freezing and re-dressed. 

Further up hill, I removed the soft shell as I was now warm and fiddled with my cleats some more, with another fiddle out side the water treatment works.  I wasn't doing well here.

I stuck to the main road instead of putting myself out there on the tops up on Rodside.  The head wind was bad enough in the valley, I thought I'd save the wind on the tops for the way home.  I struggled through the wind, feeling tired and spent.  Headwinds weren't supposed to be this hard and I could hardly remember feeling so good on Thursday night.  It was somewhat the fault of my new crud catcher which I know looks wrong on this bike but I'm so sick of getting covered in crap and wet legs within seconds of riding on a wet road...  I put it on backwards and now it acts as very efficient resistance training.  Still, at least my legs were dry. 

The descent was fine into the Derwent valley on the other side.  Whilst I'd left the house with big ambitions for a long day, I was non-commital as to where I was going and hadn't even turned to sat nav yet in the spirit of making it up as I go along.

At Bamford lights I was overcome by the temptation to ride up the Ladybower valley.  Theoretically out of the wind, surrounded by trees offering at least some form of solace, shelter and diversity of vision compared to rainy lanes of the Peak, open spaces, the Hope valley with its exposure and wind-tunnel effect.

The idea grew on me faster than the descent and I continued straight on at the lights, turning up the one-way road to Fairholmes and Kings Tree.

The effect was instant, an immediate demise in traffic.  One way a view over the lake, the other way, trees, dense, stacked trees.  The scene was set for the next 90 minutes. 

Debating whether to stop at Fairholmes for a hot pie and deciding not to get cold (there's no "indoors" except the toilets) I continued up past the village of 2-3 houses and on along the contorted contours of the lake shore, in and out of stream beds and finally, onto the last open straight trail to King's tree itself.  I had already decided to extend the joy and make this a lap of the reservoir, despite the muck I would experience, riding down the trail on the other side. 

Through the gate onto cinder road now, I would see nothing but mountain bikers and soggy walkers, equipped to various levels of rain-proofing. 

I passed the tiny humped bridge where I sat with some of my closest girlfriends on my Hen do and then joined the trail on the other side of the water expanse.  I forgot how exposed it was on this side!

Split between getting the hell off the open hillside and getting my hands into warmer gloves, I kept pedalling until I reached some tree cover.  This went on and on for some time as I passed mountain bikers and walkers and didn't want to stop until gradually I realised that my thickest winter gloves were doing nothing to stem the cold because for all that they're super-fluffy, they're not in the least water proof and they were sodden and being blown on by the icy wind. 

As my left hand clawed so that I could not have used the big ring if I wanted and my right started to hurt so badly, I decided it was time to change my gloves despite not being certain how much it would help.  I didn't anticipate having to do this before lunchtime so therefore started to get a little nervous about how long my day could be. 

Stuffed inside fleecy dry liner gloves and backed up with my fleece-lined water proofs I thought there would be too much padding to allow the blood to flow into my hands but it did and slowly I regained feeling and then gentle warmth.  A little moisture seeped through the stretched seams and then nothing, we were back at the road.  I was still too alarmed by the temperature though to consider continuing.  I could have made the cafe at Bamford for a warming lunch before continuing my ride but I determined that I had already given the day enough of myself.   I rode back up the side of the Rivelin Valley, up onto Rodside to brave the elements and enjoy the tail wind home.  Unfortunately, the wind had move sideways and was now gusting at such a pelt it almost lifted my front wheel off the ground several times. 

My feet slushed around in a little puddle of water in the bottom of my boots and my soles, toes and heels were numb.  The pathetic wool socks I'd worn were too thin.  If I'd been out for a longer ride I would have stuffed heat pads in there long ago but now all I wanted to do was get home and do something more constructive with the day.

I walked through the back door, took my boots off, threw my gloves, socks and buff straight in the washing machine and went upstairs to pee - something else I'd been putting off doing all morning - the journey from the back door to the bathroom took an inordinately long time as I hobbled through the house on stilts, the fore- and heels of what used to be my feet, completely numb and hardened.  My middle right toe felt like it had frozen into an ice-ball.  I gently massaged it whilst sat on the loo, reassuring myself that I hadn't actually got frost bite.

Three cups of coffee later, I still hadn't really warmed up but I did make substantial progress towards building the wheels I am intending to ride on various events this year.  My bike stood, muddy and dusted and trickling onto the kitchen floor, my Carradice looking very sorry, covered in a layer of grit, gradually drying by the radiator.

I made one big mistake today - I underestimated the weather.  Days of snow an ice warnings that didn't materialise and I get one day of forecast "rain" and let my guard down, forgetting to check the wind chill and almost freezing my toes off as a result.

I couldn't feel sad about not riding all weekend.  As I sat on the sofa on Sunday, pricing up my van insurance a friend stopped in and empathised that we are both so bored of freezing on our bikes. 

I finished project wheel build.  I didn't even go to the gym or have a run as I'd promised myself.  I just sat through the day, dreaming of projects to come.  Hoping that time wears well, that temperatures rise, that I'll get my mojo back for long distance, or anything.

Time this weekend has trickled through my fingers.  I am sitting on the sofa again this morning, waiting for neighbours to move their cars so I can get mine out onto the ice and snow to take it in for its MOT and get rid of the fucking thing. 

My first job today, therefore is to clear the road.  Nothing more.  Maybe file some emails whilst I wait for the temperature to rise.  To be honest, I could just sit here on this sofa, waiting for the temperature to rise.  That is the nature of my day. That is the nature of last week.

Bollocks to that

No excuses.  I am done wasting my holiday sitting on the sofa with the computer (a very productive day yesterday planning a ride I'm gonna do in 2 weeks time but still, I didn't get dressed until 3pm). 

At 4pm I got on the rollers, it seemed like a poor excuse for exercise and as I set myself up I contemplated adding more layers of clothing and my light and heading out the door for a short, dark ride - anything - just to get up the hill and back down again but I couldn't bring myself to do it.  I got on the rollers and full-on sulked for the first 20 minutes of the ride and faffed with my shoes and my saddle.  I finally got comfortable enough and turned my music up load enough to properly enjoy it and bashed out 28 miles but it really wasn't that rewarding, balancing between the radiator and the washing machine and staring at the back door.  I rode fast and hard to beat myself up and felt like some kind of sick addict, not the well balanced, happy athlete that I'd like to be.

I felt like I'd achieved nothing except the mental insurance that I was knackered enough to get a decent night's sleep - and sleep I did. 

So, today I had to ride.

Still, I spent most of the morning on the computer getting a job out of the way I've been leaving for a while - buying new wheels for the bike - a dynamo hub on the front and 32 spokes on each wheel - insurance for if any ping on my trip!

We finally made it out at 11:30 which is dangerous because lunch pangs are starting.

We had an early stop planned at the Adventure Cafe in Castleton before something else.  That early stop almost got shortened further as it started snowing on us going over Moscar and then turned to torrential sleet / hail at Ladybower dam.

We coated up but by the time we'd reached Bamford lights it was starting to brighten so we reverted to plan A.

Blissful that they had space in the caf, we demolished lunch and extra coffee before heading back out.  It had been bright but as soon as we stuck our noses out the door it started to sleet again.  If this was my punishment for spending 2 days indoors then I accept it with open arms. I love being prepared for horrendous conditions.  I feel like I am perfectly and hermetically sealed.

TSK has done plenty of riding the last two days so he headed home whilst I set out for more.  I fancied having a go at Winnats Pass in extreme conditions.  God knows how I was going to get back - there was some kind of plan involving a long ride around on main roads... whatever, it felt like an interesting challenge.

I started the road up out of Hope in glorious sunshine, finally and couldn't help myself stop to take this photo.

I pulled off the road and stood in a gate way to take the pic, my bike tucked onto the grass verge alongside the pavement.  My bike took up no more space than a human stopping to take a picture would although the stink eye I got from well heeled passers by was excruciating.  Clearly I was messing up their neat and tidy trip out to a country pub day by being sweaty and in their way... or maybe they were just jealous that I didn't pay to park.

Within 100m of the turn which forms the start of the climb, I knew I was in trouble.  Where I'd expected to be out of the wind in the lee of the climb, instead, the freezing cold air from above was hurtling down the hill like a wind-tunnel, channelled between the rock faces that form the sides of Winnats Pass.

I crossed the cattle grid, already standing hard on the pedals and without any gears left.  I'd kind of expected this road to have been gritted as it's a tourist hot spot and through-route to Manchester but no, it was slushy.  Probably rideable under-tyre but with the wind, practically impossible.  My lunch weighed heavy in my belly and I turned around and freewheeled back out, stopping to go through the gate instead of cross the cattle grid.

Two lads going the other way on bikes looked at my quizically as they must have seen me bail, I reassured them it was "probably passable but I couldn't be arsed with the wind" and then rode off to leave them to their choices.

I headed into Hathersage next to pick up some stuff that's on my TAW shopping list and then back-tracked to the Grindleford Road.

I couldn't help a trip out to Eyam.  Somehow I convinced myself it would be less blowy and less icy.

Initially it was, then it got worse where motorists had persevered.  I rode the steep bit (protected from the weather by its gradient) but then had to get off to walk on the ice higher up as there wasn't enough traction for my road tyres which occasionally kicked out worryingly.  I got fed up of taking in short sharp breaths - and holding it - whilst trying to ride and I had far too much adrenaline in me now.  I walked all the way to the top.

On flatter terrain I managed to ride again.  A few motorists were leaving the parking area at the start of the off-road trail.  I stuck to my guns and rode in the tyre tracks - slightly clearer of ice than anywhere else on the road.  At the top it was particularly icy and one Audi driver stopped by the side of the road ahead.

I wasn't sure if he was waiting to check I was OK, or what but he brought my attention to the condition of the road - sheet ice across, crunchy in some places, hard as nails in others.  I tentatively shimmied across it.  He pulled away as I looked more stable and competent.  I don't know if he was looking out for me or not but he sure was in a nice spot.  With him gone, there was no-one around.  The place was absolutely silent.  I took out my phone to capture the wonderful sunset and the moon contrasting with the snow and green grass on the other side of the road.  As ever, it didn't capture the wonder but hey, I've got evidence I was happy and I think mostly it was the silence I was photographing.

I slithered on down the hill, staying on top of the brakes all the way down to Eyam, just in case.  A brief respite through the well-travelled village then back up the other side, along the broken road back towards Grindleford.  The broken road was so clear on the broken bit that I nearly let my guard down and had a sketchy moment as I rejoined the tarmac right in front of a family who warned me that the rest of the road was also badly icy.  Phew.  Not too far to the main road.

Although I'd enjoyed my silent moment, it was nice to get back to the steady flow of traffic - or rather the knowledge that I could plough on at full speed without too much of a worry.  Up to form and flying up on to Froggat which I enjoyed, mainly because it was warm - and because I was motoring along quite nicely thank you very much.

A few cautious moments over the top where the lovely council had kindly put "ice!" warning signs out to notify road users of places where streams and such tend to cross the road but they were mostly clear.  As the sun disappeared, I was happy to be heading for home with the traffic.

Deciding not to risk the back-lanes home, I stayed on the main road into Eccleshall - one which I don't normally enjoy because of the traffic but today I appreciated its fast, ice free descent almost as much as I appreciated the long climb back up through Broomhill and Crookes to get me warm again following 17 minutes of freewheeling down hill in a gentle shower of front-wheel spray.

I full-on beat three motorists at the game of "stop at the zebra crossing for the pedestrian" before wobbling cautiously down the pavement to my own home for 5pm to an army of cuddly cats and TSK.

That, people, knocked the socks off beating myself up on the rollers whilst staring at the cat flap yesterday.

TSK's new bike ride

He's a kind man, my husband.  He bought a new bike so that we would have to go for a mountain bike ride together on the first beautiful winter Saturday of the arse end of 2015.  Here's how it went:

We woke to some snow and the last of the wedding rose

I brought Andrew up all the bumpy trails so he could try out his new suspension and 29er combination.

The Rivelin valley's looking beautiful in the sunshine with the snow on the fields and enough bracken still bringing colour through the whiteness.

Hairy bridge.

Whilst waiting for TSK to adjust his saddle, I discover I am now flexible enough to do a standing backbend over my saddle and repose.  Unfortunately my rucsac strap got latched around my saddle and I almost fell over when I tried to stand up.

Not laughing.

At Stanage Pole, the view was epic.

And the people were there.  Stanage Pole, conspicuous in its absence.

Looking towards Stanedge Lodge

And the way down

And a cold tiger

The scenery at the base of Stanage was stunning and we were glad to be riding the roads on fat tyres on ice.

Can't believe my glove invaded this shot but then my hands were losing it (circulation)

The stop at the Norfolk Arms was very welcome. Their mulled wine is really rather good.

Ladies who Lake

I started the day lazy. I don't sleep well at home at the moment. The snow was still falling at a rate that implied it would build faster than I could clear it so I had my breakfast and cancelled my review with my boss as he was in a row of 20 cars waiting to get towed out. As I sent a query to the customer about the state of their roads further North I saw the snowfall stopped, dressed in yesterday clothes and walked up to check the main road. Someone's car was being recovered from taking out the footpath handrail and I joined my neighbours in their debates about whether to risk it. I got the shovel and spent an hour shifting snow in 2 fine tracks from my car to the top of the hill. I sweated a lot but further to yesterday's post I found it absorbing, simple and therapeutic. I was a little concerned that after all the effort the car still wouldn't make it.

As the snow started to fall again I grabbed the car keys to move it before my tracks were filled again. To my absolute joy, no matter how I treated the Goji Golf it just eased its way up the hill. I slid back once. I found it ironic that the one person who had moved was parked outside the pub so I dived in their space and set about recovering the shovel and sleeping bag for the just-in-case and the essential mountain bike for my trip to the Lake District.

I popped in the office for my project file and lunch and coffee then continued on to my hotel.

The Lakes were clear but with snow on the cells. There were so many places I could have stopped on the way and done an epic ride but I didn't want to hurt myself and it seemed like such a pain to change my clothes and my plans in the car. Instead I watched the sun go down and followed a sheep trailer all the way to my hotel.
I was so glad I did. My room was exquisite. I still went out for a ride, tempting as it was to sit on the bed and stare.

The route started interesting, got consistent then steep. I kept running out of steam so I pushed rather than straining my calf on the bike. I zig zagged as much as possible though because walking was uncomfortable with the Carradice on the bike. The sheep eyed me through the dark, little green alien eyes glinting on the hillside. When it started to grate, I checked how much more climbing there was - not too much before I reached the top. Ahhh the joy of GPS. I pushed on and dropped over the top, views of Whitehaven, Workington and Sellafield streetlights opened up but sadly there was insufficient light to make out any of the fells ahead. I dropped off the back side of the hill, focused on the trail ahead, listening to the ice breaking behind my back wheel but managing to stay upright and mostly dry.

I joined a trail that skirted back around the hill I had just climbed, dropping steadily at first then steeper.  I thought it might be nice to do the route the other way around but loose rock and fallen trees put paid to that idea. It was enough to keep me engaged before the route opened up to track and I enjoyed the fast run out to the road. I unfulfilled the injured leg for the final stretch of bumpy path to ease the pain. Brilliant ride t hat totally justified the bath that followed it.

Now I am being wooed to sleep by an owl.