Sunday, November 23, 2008

Where did life go?

It's Sunday morning and yet it feels like a week day. With the skiving I have done last week, I'm not sure what day it is anymore. I realised yesterday I haven't blogged since the Wild Wales Challenge in August.

It's not skiving as such. About 6 weeks ago I began to work 50 hour weeks. Driving to Wales and back 3 times a week (for the hours I work mean a return train journey can take twice as long) has taken it out of me and taken it out of my training and my work on the kitchen so last week I started to reclaim my life.

On Monday when I got into work at 1pm after a morning of marking up a countertop, my resource manager told me that my project manager was worried he was killing me. I responded that he was justified in such a thought and that I was in the process of reclaiming my life. On Friday I also got to work at 1 after a morning of plumbing and when I completed my timesheet, I still managed to book in excess of a standard 37.5 hour week.

The plumbing is finally finished. The living room is almost back to normal except for the oven and sink, awaiting collection by freecyclers. There are two cabinets to go in place where the plasterwork still needs to dry and then the final hole to cut in the countertop for the new hob before the pictures appear and my house is open for guests again.

My racing season has been somewhat futile as ever. All about having fun. I am incapable of keeping pace with the leading woman and my team mate, Claire but I try and I find my place amongst the unfit men at the back and I encourage my team mates as they lap me.

Training has been limited. When I do go to the office from my home address, I inevitably jump in the Vanu since I'm late, so very late and will want to be home urgently via a shop to buy eats then continue with the kitchen. There have been no saturday rides for a long time.

Let's be honest though, except for Canada (where commuting was the only riding I got to do), I have traditionally been a lazy winter cyclist anyway so really, more than ever before, I have found snippets of time to train this season.

Every Tuesday night I join the Swindon Road Club in the gym at Fitness First and we let all our frustrations rip in an hour of stationary bike madness to Faithless and Chiccane and, bizarely The Ace of Spades finds its way in there.

The room is hot and dark, which is a relief because the sight of sweat running down the walls might be unsightly. The bikes are no more than a bent elbow's distance appart, meaning I occasionally make contact with the clammy elbow next to me.

We do various excercises, spinning the pedals in double-time to the music, adding resistance and keeping single time with the music, adding more resistance and standing up. Then, after the climb we sit down again and try not to touch the dial, just keep hauling the pedals around. This is good, it replicates the cyclo-cross need to keep sitting the weight on the back wheel whilst climbing a steep hill.

Then the sprint tunes - as my legs whirr by, the lack of resistance means my knees start to lock-out - getting left behind by the pedals so I add resistance to give me something to sprint against and before I know it I am in a race, pushing to the finish-line to get there before the person next to me - wherever "there" is. The instructor knows what to say to keep us pumped, keep the brain working - or stop it working during the minute-long sprint sessions when he asks us to give 110%. "This is my key philosophy..."

Claire and I have discussed stealing the CD to play over the commentary tannoy at the national championships.
Trying desperately not to cramp-up on the way down Pen-Y-Ghent. 3rd of "The Three Peaks" in September. The event was fantastic with perfect sunny weather and not too hot. There was an amazing view off the top of Whernside, looking at the Howgill fells and lake district beyond. I didn't take enough food with me and was starting to cramp up on the way down Whernside. I stepped off the track and put onen foot into a deep rabit hole. When I fell, both calf muscles went into cramp, leaving me screaming in the grass until I could persuade the pain to leave me. A bit scary for the passers by! At the bottom of the ascent of Pen-Y-Ghent, I comandeered some rasins from a spectator which got me through the rest of the day.

The day was marred by my dad not riding. Three weeks before the event he was knocked off his bike by a car-driver. He had surgery on his face a week later to plate a broken cheek-bone and, understandably, was not ready for the event. This would have been his 36th attempt at an event he has completed every year since he was 24. He is 3rd in holding this record (consecutive years ridden) and now it is over, thanks to one split second of undue attention by some muppet in a car. Mostly, I was looking forward to making my come-back to this event with my dad in his 60th year on this lovely planet but it was not to be.


Playing in the tank tracks at a local event in October. Wearing the new teams' colours. This was the hottest cyclo-cross race I have done in the "winter". We all sat in the field in our shorts and teeshirts afterwards and it's why I'm very pink.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Wild Wales Challenge Madness

There are days when the alarm rings at 6.15 and it doesn't annoy me so much. Those are the days that I am on holiday and there are important things to be done. It is best when those things are not work on my house but they are epic bike rides.

Efficiently fed and caffeined-up we headed for Bala leisure centre and queued to get our start-time signed before cycling into the Welsh mizzle.

The beginning of our ride was reccied on Saturday, along the quiet side of Bala Lake (or Llynn Tegid as the Welsh prefer to call it). By the time we got to the turn-off for the hills, the mizzle had stopped and the sun was set in to shine all day (through gaps in the cloud as only it does in Wales).

We soon turned off the main A494 towards the harder terrain of the Trawsffynydd Mountain Road. As the slope steepened we stood on the pedals, then started to strain then finally resorted to walking. I don't mind telling you this since the grade was 14%, it had been going on for over a mile and there were 80-odd miles to go. I had deliberately elected to ride this event on my higher geared lightweight racing bike that I will use for the 3 Peaks next month. TSK did suggest it would be easier to do the Wild Wales on the heavier 'Lovely' with the lower gear ratios... and he was right. I had, however, argued that anything I couldn't ride up could be run up with the race bike. Therefore, confirming my confidence in my ability to complete the 3 Peaks in September and ply me with excellent training opportunity and the knowledge I could sit on my new £64, 9g saddle for the desired time period.

All across Trawsffynydd mountain, stretches of 10% - 14% road reared their ugly slopes as we progressed doggedly along. I am happy to report that I rode up all of them, short and sharp as they were.

Finally, in a long, open stretch of moorland the descent away came into view with the occasional gate and cattle-grid just to make it interesting.


The long descent finally dropped back into forest. Descending away from other riders, as is the way of Trep, I drew up to a gate being closed by a farmer. As they set off up the hill, I called out, "car" to any of my companions on their way down the narrow lane. I opened the gate to let myself through and could hear shouting back up the hill. I stood for a moment, gate in hand, trying to figure out what the men in the landrover were yelling. Turns out it was, "shut the fucking gate". I took the time to say a frustrated, "Give me a chance!" in my best sarcastic girlie voice before feigning a closed gate and waiting to open it for TSK and the others following-on close behind. All before, I must add, finally closing the gate once and for all. Apparently the herd of invisible cows did not escape as a result of my courteous act.

Further into the woodland lanes, an oncoming MTB rider found himself facing the Shall-remain-nameless CC, aiming to power past me. On the tight road, the poor bloke nearly wheelied into the bushes, stil clipped in. Whilst I worried for his safety and the event's reputation, the shall-remain-nameless CC seemed content to yell, "learn to ride" at the unsuspecting member of the public. Rarely has an entire group of my companions stirred such annoyance in me but I suspect pack behaviour was somewhat to blame so I kept my mouth shut..

Into the feeding station at Llanelltyd for a chat with the man wearing an "Etape" jersey. 160km followed by the Alpe d'Huez climb... and all before the Tour de France entourage arrives to finish the day... though that's another year for us, it's still nice to hear someone else recommend it..

We are ahead of cut-off time by 2 hours but still leave control quickly so we don't seize-up. A short stretch of smooth main road then over the wooden slatted river-bridge, tolls paid by our entry fee. The impending mass of Cadair Idris ahead told us that more climbing was on the menu. A promising start, then into a massive sharp left turn, the text in the instructions giving the clue, "left turn up sharp hill signposted Youth Hostel". TSK, following what instructions I choose to divulge to him, was in the wrong gear and struggled valiantly to stay on and find the right gear. After two punishing switch-backs on a 17% hill, both of us were on our feet again. This time I decided to stick to my promises and started to jog, keeping the loud-mouths from the Shall-remain-nameless CC bemusedly riding along beside me at a runner's pace, heaving and hauling, yet desperately still on their bikes. It is my silent revenge for earlier.

Up on the moor again and my friend Mary catches up for a chat. A boy wearing a polka-dot king of the mountains jersey calls, "coming through" and, ever the mule, Mary follows the boy, passing him back. I'm not saying Mary's an ass but honestly, he asked for it. It would be rude and cruel for me to divulge his nickname for the day on air.

Lunch is in Barmouth after we cross via the rail/footbride and queue to pay our £1 toll. We bump into a man we met on the "Hills & Plains of Cheshire" Audax in July. We find a sandwich shop serving hot pork, apple sauce, gravy & stuffing baguettes and find it is just the job.

Traffic is frayed between Barmouth and Tan-Y-Bont but everyone survives the patience-test with nothing more than a few beepen car horns. Who khew holiday Sundays were so important? The instruction to, "climb steadily" fell on deaf ears and unclipped cleats as we again faced lengthy and steep climbs. Finally the gradient relented to testingly rideable as we dug into reserves that would eventually bring us out further up the busy coast-road.

Looking tired but sunny just outside Tal-Y-Bont.

Our regular meetings with fast-groups and slower ones confirms our status as the tortoises of the event. With my route-sheet close to hand I regularly confirm the directions to riders who could otherwise go faster.

The return to the main road at sea level is incident-free as the grass-middled winding lanes roll over contours like the Andrex puppy has been at work in the countryside.

The main-road at sea level brings a 3 mile respite before the turn at the Magnox Hydro station sinposted, "pony trecking". The irony is not lost on me as the road rockets to 20% incline and in desperation I call out, "find me a pony!" before I get off and walk again.

The engineering porn on display is hard to resist though and I find myself singing, "turbines to the right of me, pipelines to the left, here I am, stuck in the middle with a bunch of sweaty men". I conclude I am a sweaty walking-woman then all 6 of the folk walking with me are gob-smacked to see a lone rider litterally zoom past us. I was too stoopified to think, "I'll have what he's having".

At the bottom of the climb into Gelililydden

At the top of that climb was the beautiful village of Gelililydden and it's lovely village hall with bikes stacked outside and a man signing forms and tea and cakes on offer. TSK was contented. We have never been so far ahead of schedule and had such time to spare. I was more nervous about not having peed sice 10am and setting off asap so I could keep the legs moving and guzzle more water en route. Mary passed me again as the song, "ooh ah just a little-bit, ooh ah, a little bit more" were echoing through my head and we discussed the 'whys?' of us doing this and how good it feels when we stop. After she rode away from me, I didn't see Mary again so she was obviously even keener than I to make it stop.

Our final obstacle of the day was the previously mentioned, Trawsffyndd mountain road. If only I'd realised earlier in the day that this was my road home, I might've paid more attention. If I'd paid more attention though, I might not have carried on, knowing that I would have to retrace those steps. As it was, we constantly debated which of the slopes ahead would see us off our bikes and walking again. Miraculously I found myself riding past many of my male peers as they pushed their bikes along.

One man from the Cheshire CC proclaimed, "I'm just bushed now." We had a chat about our mileage since he'd accidentally reset his pooter (and when you're that tired, no one is good at maths). The conclusion that we were close to 3 miles from the next turn spurred all of us on as we realised it must be nigh-on downhill all the way.

As he rolled by on the downhill he proclaimed, "this is the bit about cycling I love". He promptly tumbled head-over-handlebars, legs flying, off the road and into a grassy bog. Scaring the living daylights out of me, I left my bike at the side of the road to show my location, with the man now out of sight of the road. TSK was then scared shitless when he saw me stumbling around in the undergrowth. As 6 other people on the mountain assumed I had crashed, I guess it was my dignity that was most badly damaged.

Our tumbling friend was fine. He was lucky not to land on a rock and suffered no more than dented pride and the spoils of nature (sheep poo) on his top, under his bag, on his hands, on me. He did what was best and got back on the bike. After a brief spell of us molly-coddling him, he joined similarly speedy old hooligans in a much faster descent than we cared for.

Once down the scary road/tractor-trail the main A459 beckoned us back into Bala. I swear they moved Bala. We rolled along at a fair pace. With a tail wind, TSK was satisfied to have legitimately used every gear he had on his bike. On old dude passed us wearing a very 80's sweat-band on his head. He was closely followed by another old dude wearing similarly 80's day-glo cap and socks, muttering, "owwwh! I suppose I'll have to go after him..." and promptly sprinted to catch up. A team of Manchester riders raced by in chain-gang formation and as I mock-copied their style I found myself lifting our pace ever so slightly and, I am pleased to report, catching up to the 80's old-boys.

All that served to pass the time to the finish line, a glorious 10 hours, 92 miles and 2707m of climbing since we started.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Woot Bass Phase 1

The new shed has arrived. For 7 working days prior to its arrival we slaved. First carefully dismantling the old shed so it could be freecycled

then digging out earth for the new foundations and breaking up an old concrete path so the new shed could have space behind it and not be buried in the neighbour's fence.

Concrete forms were errected and adapted at the tight coner.

I went to the tool hire shop and enquired about a small cement mixer. A batch of new ones was on the way and they'd bring it round. I was relieved since I needed to be in to receive the shed.

I bimbled as much as possible, getting things right, taking down the old arch and its cimbing plants. There was nothing else to do and so I started to mix the concrete by hand.

Before I made the biggest mistake of my weekend (on Thursday) the nice Polish boy arrived with the cement mixer. He manoevred it round the back, ("is not heavy") and set it up for me. I wondered if it was sturdy enough?

"Is OK"

He was looking at me. He wanted to show me how it worked. I wanted to learn how it worked. I realised I didn't have a long power cable. I scoured the house and called the tennant but resorted to nodding at the on/off switches to convince the boy I knew how it works. He drove away. He was probably shaking his head.

With a power cable borrowed from number 75, I continued my work. For the next 6 hours I shovelled agreate and sand and hosed water in the machine, dragging it, as required, across the area to be filled unitil the area was full of sticky wet concrete.

In that timeframe the shed arrived and, offering his hand in marriage, the chaps declared themselves impressed with my work, while offering their opinion at the same time. They declared me too smart to patronise when I questioned his use of the word 'level' when what he actually meant was 'smooth'.

At 3pm TSK's mum arrived and with me still shovelling, I set her about staining the new shed. At 4pm the nice freecyclers came to pick up the old shed which gave me the opportunity to sit down for the first time in 4 hours.

At 7.30, half the slab was finally laid. We damped the top surface flat and wrote our names (and TSK's) in the smooth concrete then went down the pub for dinner.

I spent the next day painting the vast expanse of new walls and base. TSK arrived on Saturday and shovelled and poured concrete with all his might, halving the task of laying the other half-slab. A man came to pick up the cement mixer and declared himself horified at the huge machine they had given me. Still,they only charged me the quoted ammount and tried to give me change of £15.

A week later we assembled the new building. Wall by wall it became a structure. Then the crew of TSK's dad, my work colleague and ex-tenant all appeared with perfect timing to finger-tips and tippie-toe lift the roof into place.

The heavy-duty roof that had TSK and I staggering round the garden like drunks when we handled it on our own, slotted into place like a square block in a square hole with 6 people handling it, leaving me wondering what on earth I invited them all for and realising that I had no beer in.

It took a good hour or two more of felt-measuring and lifting, upward nailing and door hanging, tacking and trimming before we ran out of gusto and returned a week later to glaze the place.

Result is that with a little help from our friends, family, local businesses and freecycle our first extension to a house we're yet to live in is finally complete. As my reward for all the hard work, the latest is that I'll finally relocate my job, move in again and next week, finally get to enjoy the house I picked to be my home.

Monday, July 07, 2008

Torn

It was dad's 60th this weekend and TSK's first 400 ride. Now dad's don't turn 60 every day and TSKs can choose their 400s so I spent the weekend in Manchester whilst TSK spent the weekend in Hull riding round in a significantly large figure of 8.

In the bar at night on Daddy's birthday we all toasted the absent TSK and wished he were there and poondered sending him a text but the walls on the Swettenham Arms are too thick and it's the end of a dead-end cheshire lane and phones of the mobile variety don't work there.

At midnight I texted from home to tell him to text me any time of the night and I would spurr him on. I promptly fell asleep, deeply, for the next 8 hours to find out that I missed the crux 5am call to say he was exhausted and heading for base. I felt bad and worried that he might need picking up. Reassured by a phonecall, I went out for a ride with Daddy to stretch our pre-3-Peaks muscles.

The entry form for the 3 Peaks was posted on t'interweb on 1st July. Last year the event was cancelled and all riders who entered last year were automatically registered this year except for 20-or-so who asked for their money back. So this year, competition for places is hot. On 30th June I sat by my computer at 11pm, debating whether to leave it on for another hour to complete my form and post it straight away. I suspected that entries would be by post only so there really was no need for me to fill in the form at midnight, or to lie awake till about 3 am worrying that I was sleeping whilst everyone else was getting their 3 Peaks places. At 5:30am, the 'pooter was switched on and at 7:30, the form went in the postbox. As with anything vital, I had run out of cheques and TSK had to stump up.

Now the interminable waiting. Entries are closed, the race is full. In 3 days time (or-so) I will discover my fate and a new bike, all the training and forsaking coffee and alcohol for the next three months will all become worthwhile.

The waiting, I think, is worse than the race itself.

Monday, June 30, 2008

Nesting

TSK and Trepid Explorer are nesting. Wo woh. Don't get excited, there's no little hippotigermusses on the way but we have a window of 12 weeks in which to plan and rework the house that is Woot before we actually need to move back into it.

I have discovered the power of the Ikea kitchen design tool.

I have ordered a 10x7 garden shed for the end of the path to house our army.

We spent the weekend evicting spiders, pruning the overhanging trees on the rear entrance path to the house and crawling around the kitchen with a tape measure.

Oh what fun I'm going to have.

Here's the before


Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Tuesday night bounce

It's amazing how good it can feel to suddenly have all the time in the world - even if it's only for an hour.

It's noisy around the pool but I feel peaceful because I have 45 minutes to kill before my step aerobics class at 7.

I used to hate the idea of aerobics, all those gym bunnies in lycra. Then I realised I've never been any good at training on my bike or running. I can ride for miles and miles for fun but when it comes to going fast I have to be racing.

For me, good training is all about diversity - a bit at the gym, a bit at the pool, a game of squash, a run then back to the bike. It's easy to push your aerobic capacity when you suck at something. So I am waiting for step aerobics and I intend to rejoin the gym (to fund the aerobics and the pool) and soon I will be standing on the other side of that glass wall ballancing on a gym ball with the guy who likes to do handstands in the morning, the two of us looking like a pair of circus freaks.

TSK's time trial season has gone off to a flying start. What a refreshing change for me. My race training has only started now, ready for the winter. Let's rephrase that, it has to start now. I can only take so much satisfaction from the fact that I'm the only one of four girls at work, interested in this aerobics who gets up at 7am, reaches for the phone and books in for an evening class.

And all this because a friend posted a little dude saying, "Hello, this is your life speaking, more treats please". That little dude is now on my desktop, peeping out at me every day reminding me to finish on time, switch off my PC screen and go and do something more interesting.

OK, I admit, the first few times it ended up in the pub but there's nothing really wrong with that is there now?

There's now a steady stream of events leading up to the big event of The3 Peaks on 29th September:

19July Dunwich Dynamo
24 Aug Wild Wales challenge
30 Aug The Tour of the Cornfields

Who knows, I might just do something special this year at the big race

Sunday, June 22, 2008

All blocked up

I woke up this morning and I was deaf in my left ear. Eugh. "Sounds" familiar ('scuse the pun).

My dad is deaf in one ear. He had an ear infection and fell off his bike and bumped his head. Ever since then he's been deaf in one ear - the left one. This sounds like a horror story parents tell their kids so they don't fall off their bikes, or get ear infections so let's add a pinch of salt. But really, my dad is deaf in one ear and today, so am I, so I am not going out on my bike.

There has been a resounding silence (even to a half-deaf person) over the sale of my house. This probably has mostly to do with the "credit crunch" and impending doom of the housing market but I also feel might be slightly attributed to the so-far uselessness of my estate agent who, two weeks into a 12 week contract has still not managed to load any photos onto the website. For a house that's being marketed as "well presented" that's a bit shit. Good job I'm not in a rush to sell. Their latest excuse for not getting all the photos is my tenant's bras were hanging from the stair rail. Really, I don't feel like bollocking my tenant.

So instead of cycling, I am spending today using the Ikea interweb tool to design myself a new kitchen and to figure out how I can fit all the furniture I own into the old Woot Bass house in a sensible fashion, instead of the higgeldy-piggeldy mess it was in when I first moved in in a rush.

I feel a serious shopping spree coming on soon.