Blogfromthebarn

Self inflicted pain, lots of it

Some weeks ago I was out cycling with a few chums, I say cycling, we were sitting in a cafe enjoying, in my case, Eggs Benedict, the ideal mid-ride snack for the healthy cyclist.


As I moved to the waffles, pancakes and maple syrup someone suggested that "we should do a sportive".

For those of you sensible enough to keep away from the phenomenon which is middle-aged-man-cycling a sportive is, not a race, but an organised cycle event, a couple of thousand folk following signed and marshalled routes, with feed stations, medical and mechanical support staff, and a T-shirt and medal if you survive.

We, (Team BreakfastBikeBuddies) normally cycle 30-40 road miles on a Saturday morning, so the prospect of cycling between  70 and 125 miles seemed like a bit of challenge but buzzing from the fine breakfast and the 'yeah let's do it' noises from the rest of the group I came home and immediately signed up to do an 85 mile ride, the Wiggle Magnificat.

A couple of interesting things happened then, pretty much everybody else seemed to have forgotten a prior appointment, organised holidays or family commitments which rendered them unable to turn out. I however, having impulsively shelled out my £30 entry fee was going to get my money's worth.

Two alone from Team BreakfastBikingBuddies stayed true, Winston, who chose to take on the 125 mile circuit and Anna who said she'd accompany me on the 85 miler.

The route started at Newbury racecourse and took a big loop through Ball Hill up Combe Hill, (couple of clues there) then down to Andover around and below Winchester and eventually back to Newbury via Kingsclere and Brimpton. As it happens I know most of those roads but driving around them gives a very different perception of the up and downs from cycling the same tracks.

At around 7:30 Anna and I set off, I'm a slow starter and it takes me 30 minutes or so to get warmed and loosened up, now, she has many fine qualities Anna but she's not blessed with patience, and it took her about a mile to suggest that I'd probably be OK if she buggered off.

I'm a wise old bird and I assured her she should sprint off and go at her own pace. She did so and it was a good three or maybe four minutes before I came upon her by the side of the road swearing like a trooper and taking off the punctured wheel she'd managed to acquire in remarkably short order.


Being a gentleman I sailed past giggling. I didn't really, I stopped and helped her fix the tyre, well aware that in an 6-7 hour slog, five minutes fixing a tyre was going to make minimal difference to my snail-like performance.

Onward we rode, taking it in turns to share the lead and as we warmed up and started to get comfortable we even overtook some people, obviously the instant I got to a hill and slowed to my traditional "turtle climbing a tree" pace all those people overtook me again but my descending skills (excessive weight and hysterical screaming) swung the balance back my way on the downhills and the ride, although arduous continued through some lovely countryside, up hill and down dale, (mostly up I reckon).

I've cycled further than this in France (see the Tuxedo Tour) but this is the longest ride I've done without halfway beer and hourly coffee, still, despite that sacrifice I can't pretend that I didn't have fun.

We enjoyed another mechanical failure, (Anna briefly lost her chain, (and temper)) but it was a mostly enjoyable excursion and I'm sure my friends will all really wish they hadn't concocted lame excuses to avoid turning out.

Kudos to Winston on his time over a hell of a long day and very best wishes to Anna who sailed over the finish line with me and is really looking forward to doing the Ride-London 100- miler in August.


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They do say that a man should know his limits, based on this 85 mile ride I reckon mine kick in at about 84 miles.

Next challenge, "Team Tuxedo do Corsica" in September, I'll keep you posted.

Labels: Battaglin, blogfromthebarn, Combe Gibbet, cycling, feed station, Kingsclere, Magnificat, mountain bike, puncture, road bike, sportive, Wiggle

posted by Stuffy @ 3:00 pm 1 comments

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Sunday, ah Sunday, a restful day, a late alarm, a cup of tea, a gradual emerging from the snug cocoon of well-deserved rest, an amble to the paper shop, a leisurely and indulgent breakfast, a late lunch with family and friends, a glass or bottle or two, a recuperative, restorative, indulgent day.

So why was I up at 6:00 making up water bottles of electrolytes and energy, cramming croissant and banana into my mouth, squeezing my protesting body into snug lycra and meeting up with 70 or so whippet-thin cycling obsessives to ride 50 miles up hill and down dale across Southern England and 35 miles back.

There's a fine charity run by some lovely people, the 'Children with Special Needs Foundation'. Our chums, Gordon and Ann run it and they'd put an event together with the local Foxhills golf club near us to run an organised fund-raising 'sportive' (bike ride).

We'd assembled an equipe of nine bicycling friends and myself. I sorted out some team kit, branded long-sleeve jerseys (it is September) and we huddled at Foxhills at unearthly o'clock for coffee, danish and nervous laughter.

Our team, as you can see, was a good looking group and all in fine fettle as we set off with our ride guide 'John, a man who obviously has cycling coursing through his veins, (veins very evident on a man carrying nothing that remotely resembled body fat).

We set off well and passed a couple of the earlier groups, all was going well for the first ten miles until your humble correspondent, (who traditionally only shines on fast downhill stretches for some reason) had a bit of a 'coming together' with another of our team. He was mercifully unscathed, I however managed to buckle my front wheel, bend my chainring and pulverise my lower back. Our guide, John, was phlegmatic and parried all my attempts to get a ride back in the van, by summoning a spare bike and ensuring that all my many and varied excuses came to naught.

The remainder of the fifty miles to Farleigh, near Croydon passed pleasantly and with much challenge but I can't deny that I arrived at the lunch stop with a spring in my step, a spark in my eye, a quip on my lips and sadly, a twisted wrenching muscular mess of excruciating pain across my lower back.

Along with the other, "that's quite enough for me" retirees I made my way back on the team bus while   most of our team survivors set off on the 35 mile return leg. Luckily by the time they arrived back I'd done a serious quality investigation of the complimentary prosecco and was poised to attack the excellent hog-roast.

Special mentions for my colleagues in the team should go to Dean, who was 2nd over the finish line, bro-in-law Graham who rode his mountain bike the whole way and now "never wants to see that bike again, ever". Chef Winston had an 'orrible fall at 50 miles, minutes from lunch, lacerated a leg (his own) but manfully bled the 35 miles home. Steve C and Dave B who kindly called it quits and came back on the bus to stop me feeling lonely, Anna, (Mrs Shouty) rode an excellent ride and Richard and Glen, (the other XLshirts) who were a delight to ride with, kept me motivated and only ever slagged me off when they thought I was out of earshot.

All in all a fun day for a worthy cause




and as I lie here, wracked with pain, supine and suffering, I'm really looking forward to next time, if I can get my bike fixed, and get a bit fitter, and find anyone willing to ride with me, etc. etc. etc.






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Labels: ann parris, bike crash, blog from the barn, blogfromthebarn, box hill, Children with special needs, cycling, Fairleigh, fox hills, gordon parris, ian wooldridge foundation, Oakwood, sportive, Stuffy

posted by Stuffy @ 7:51 pm 0 comments