Tales from the Darkside

Last week I completed the Manchester 100 mile sportive. It was an interesting and educational experience. It was also rather painful.
Sometimes in life we 'bite off more than we can chew' This ride was a perfect example of this.
Although the initial taste was delicious it was soon followed by acute indigestion, and nausea. I bonked. After my previous weeks blistering pace in The Hotter N Hell (Texas) my confidence was high.
I was a Mule, my hooves were on fire, and my maine was once again ready to flow in the wind. I had some high equine standards to keep up.
I knew my American Mules would be neighing at my progress, especially as I was the sole mule representative in this UK 100 miler.
It was also the first time that our distinctive red and blue livery would be seen upon these shores.

Joanne our first female Mule also was taking part in the 100 km ride - all in all it was an auspicious moment in Mule history.

I set off at about 7 30 am wearing enough layers to be compared to an gigantic onion.
It was a chilly start.
There was also a strong south westerly headwind that was forecast to increase as the day progressed.
With this in mind I decided to push off hard knowing that I might get some assistance from nature on the run in.

After 30 mins I was pulling a long pace line at well over 20 mph.
The heat generated from my efforts left me wishing I had left my thermal long sleeved shirt in the car. I was poaching. like some over sized 'boil in the bag' recipe.
After 45 mins I was still pulling and twitching my elbow like mad.........No takers !!!!
After 60 mins I twitched my elbow, patted my bum and looked over my shoulder for support........still no takers.
After 90 mins I sarcastically shouted out 'Am I pulling all the way?'

My words like my efforts seemed to be lost on the multi coloured train behind me and I was well cooked. I had been in the red zone for far too long and it was time to slow down a little.
Just as I tempered my cadence an even faster pace line hurtled past on the outside.
It was an open invitation, too good a chance to miss.

Instinctively I jumped on the back leaving my own line floundering behind me.
Although I smiled at their demise, I also cursed myself as I watch the blur of the second drink station pass across my eyes.
My bottles were nearly empty.
In this new group I was definitely punching above my weight, clinging onto their back wheels as my I could hear my heartbeat racing to keep up with my ego.
After 55 miles there was a compulsory stop where you had to check in. By then I had averaged a not too shabby 23 mph.

I was on course to get in well under 5 Hours and smash my Personal best. The buzz was immense and My adrenalin was making me feel quite giddy.

Foolishly I just booked in and out believing that I could survive to the next drink station.
When I was in Texas I drank at least one bottle every hour and was totally disciplined about it. Now in England this had all 'gone to pot', deceived by the more temperate weather. I had also forgotten about my fluid loss during my poaching session

After 60 miles my legs had decided that they were no longer interested in my instructions.
Willfully they had decided that they wanted to go at their own pace, one considerably slower than what I was requesting.
After 78 miles I got to the final drink station. It was at the same time that my body had formed a firm alliance with my legs. Although I drank loads and it did wet my throat, I was still thirsty and this new and sudden volume of liquid made me want to throw up.
My legs now trembled like like a dog performing its morning ritual.

The last twenty miles were Hell. I looked for wheels to follow but the only one that I seemed to be able to stick with belonged to an 80 year old woman riding a mountain bike.
She had a small fluffy dog in a basket at the front that 'looked on' curiously.
On spying me the dog winced and shook his head in utter disdain, before hiding behind his elderly companion.
Maybe my frothing mouth was a giveaway.

This part of the ride was integrated with the 100 km participants and most of them were now overtaking me. There were pretty girls dressed in pink with crowns attached to their helmets and gents riding standard urban bikes, their troussers restrained by cycle clips.

They all gave me a wide berth as I meandered across the road like a lazy river.

Local authority Vans were and warning signs appeared by the roadside 'Heavy Plant Crossing'

Each time I came across a hill my thighs ignited with cramp, so excruciating that I was forced to abandon my bike in search of pavements or gates to facilitate some stretching exercises.

The remaining miles were covered slowly, very slowly.

Each mile I split into quarters and knocked off each one in my head.

When my Garmin finally read 100 miles there was no finishing line to be seen. I held back my tears.

My sense of humour had evaporated with most of my bodies fluids.

Every turn of the pedal felt like a mammoth task.

At 100.7 miles I went over the line in 5 hrs 58 mins. I was totally fu**ed.

The following week I did not want to ride, I did not want to see a bike again. In fact I did not even want to read about bikes or biking and hid all of my biking magazines.

Even my bike blog, like my bike was abandoned. I needed Rest and reassurance

This weekend I sought solace with my Best friend Colin down in the fens.

The Fens are flat.........really flat. Its like having an extra gear, a lazy cyclist heaven and sprinters paradise.

I took my bike to throw into a ditch along the route and my Camera to record the ceremony.

Saturday Morning requested forgiveness as it presented itself with a windless, cloudless day with warmth in the air.

It was too much

The lure was too strong I did 55 miles Saturday and thirty Sunday and loved ever minute of it and my keyboard is now humming again. I also managed to get some great pictures too!!!!!

Flat out in the Fens - Event day

Getting up at 4 o'clock in the morning usually marks some key moment in my life and is usually met by some degree of excitement. Like catching a flight to some exotic location , chasing a burglar out of my house or being present at the birth of my daughter. Recently it has become synonymous with riding my bike in some far away sportive, only the excitement has been replaced by a sense of masochism.
When the alarm goes off, I always think that I only set it moments before, and wonder where I lost those weekend lie ins with the Sunday papers.
This year the 4 am awakening has occurred in Cheshire, Houston, and this morning in East Anglia for 'The flat out in the Fens' sportive.
I was joined by my Best friend Colin, his 14 year old Nephew Matthew, and two of his friends, Mark and Chris, the later two being triathletes.
We eventually elected for the shortest distance of 77 miles on account of Colin's concern about his lack of training and that he could not find an appropriate seat. He wanted something that was sprung like a sofa, but the only thing that cycle shop could offer were details of local furniture shops.I was volunteered to provide a wind break for him and set off pulling our mini pace line. It was a task I took on with much enthusiasm. Our line grew as quickly as a queue to a 'Take that' concert, and soon our multi coloured, wheeled, snake was scorching around the fens - flat out as advertised.
Colin was glued to my rear wheel and at our first drink station he was able to tell me how many hairs I had on each leg. Cheekily he also stated that because of my width, and the subsequent draft that it created, he only had to pedal one revolution to ten of mine and was also able to read 'War and Peace.
We completed the first 30 miles in fractionally over 90 mins.
The rest of the trip was not so progressive, it was interrupted by punctures (Chris and Mark) and fatigue (Colin). On the plus side there was some amazing riding by young Matthew.
At one of our puncture stops Colin was trying to devise new methods of cycling faster.
The best idea he could come up with was 'having bigger wheels'.
Like a 'Penny farthing' but with two big wheels, he even adapted an inner tube to illustrate his inspiration. His demonstration was not convincing and fell as flat as the tyre he was attempting to repair. The consensus of opinion was that he should just get fit !!!!

We eventually completed the distance in 4 and a half hours.............a very creditable performance considering our time spent with inner tubes and tyre levers. I must admit I loved the ride and the exhilaration at being able to sustain a high tempo for so long. I think next year I will try and get my new cycling buddies to take on the 115 miles.

Special thanks must go to 'Kilo to Go' its my second ride with them this year and they get a massive thumbs up for hosting such well organised rides.

Our motley crew will meet again next month for London to Cambridge at which point Colin may choose to leave his armchair. He has promised us some team shirts 'The racing Snakes' a description of our slim athletic appearance. Whose he kidding.

Training

This week I have broken 3,000 miles for the year and riding is now a total joy.

My virtual ride now takes me into Massachusetts and to the town of Springfield.

This is also the name of The Simpsons Fictional home so in virtual reality world I could bump into Homer.

Springfield has other notable links it is also the birth place of William Marsh Rice the founder of Rice University in Houston.

It is the birthplace of basket ball and it is where Kurt Russell hails from.

Next week I move into Connecticut and New York state following my Journey South.

Cycling proficiency Test

Recently the government have decided to really embrace alternative transport.
They have developed a new cycling proficiency programme for kids, to ensure that they have the necessary skills to combat 'cycling in the city'
Sadly only a few have passed.
Am I being a cycic, or was that was the idea?

Two days to go till Flat out in the fens........Im really looking forward to it

Its as easy as Riding a bike

Flat out in the Fens

This coming weekend sees me completing in a new sportive called 'Flat out in the Fens'. It is organised by the impressive 'Kilo to go' team that organised 'The Cheshire Cat' amongst other national sportives. Most Sportives are characterised my their arduous climbs and technical terrains.This one has neither.

Taking place on the longest day of the year the event appears to be more like an audax, with the top distance being over 150 miles.

With long straight stretches of roads and 'No climbing'.........I repeat 'No climbing'.

The biggest challenge is likely to be combating boredom, or retaining concentration at average speeds that I expect will be far above peoples personal bests.

Normally a momentary lack of concentration might send you into a hedge, or at worse an introduction to the 'Road rash Society', however The Fens are different. You are likely to end up in a dyke, or stinking bog, wishing you had packed your swimming goggles, and some strong cologne.

The Fenlands of England are as flat as heavily rolled bowling green, with undulations no bigger than what a miscreant mole might create.

After being spoilt by my beloved Yorkshire, I do find this landscape boring, however it does produce the most incredible skies that seem to dominate your visual receptorsMy initial intention was to complete the longest distance of 153 miles, but I am now being joined by my best mate Colin and some of his friends who are all local to the area.

I am lead to believe that their idea of a long ride is to cycle to the pub and back after drinking a gallon of ale. Although I am not disapproving of such hydration methods, there are no hedges on route.........I will let you figure out the rest !!!!!

I have already been informed that I will be pulling the whole way, a loyal domestique. I expect some of those in our pace line may require pacemakers too, and cushions strapped to their seats.

Still, all miles are good miles, I will have the opportunity to talk, cycle and take lots of Photographs for my weekend blogpost. It will be novel not to change gear too.