Malcolms Madness

Each year since the Mules Club evolved we have embarked on a 'Summer Club run' designed to test our metal and have some mutual suffering. Usually this has involved finding a masochistic route with a selection of double digit gradients on the local North Yorkshire Moors.

During the actual rides it would become custom to laugh at our stupidity and pained gurning expressions, to tell exaggerated tales of elevated wheels, lack of gears, and descents breaking the land speed record.


This year the task of selecting our route was devolved to 'Malcolm' who is known by some as Lucifer or 'Diablo' for the wry smile he presents when watching his fellow riders suffer.
It is said that Lucifer fell from great heights, well this one descended on a Canyon Racing bike and wants nobody to return to the paradise that a summit might offer.
He would carefully select gradients to keep his disciples legs burning from his 'Velo Hell'

Amongst dozens of unnamed climbs he chose Blakey Ridge as our monument climb, way up on the North Yorkshire Moors. A place so remote that I expected to see 'The Slaughtered Lamb' and some American back packers deviating from the road.
Malcolm also put in his order for some gale force wind and squally rain to stack the odds in his favour.

Prior to our departure some of our club members started to drop out perhaps knowing 'The route', Malcolm, the weather or all three!!!

What alarmed me was the calibre of riders left.
I am no climber - but I can climb.
Knowing my limits I tackle these beasts as slowly as I can, often reassured that there will be some who will suffer more than me. For this trip I knew I was to be the 'Lantern Rouge'.

Those who elected to go or were drugged by Malcolm were all related to Mountain Goats, where I was a prairie dog.
Maybe .......the thought passed my mind. I would be Lucifers first Victim?

The countryside was breathtaking, and the initial 'Rises' as Malcolm put it -were significant ascents to me. As the terrain became more exaggerated so did my breathing and sense of terror like a condemned man travelling to the Gallows.

Well Blakey arrived and it did not fail to disappoint, rearing up from the valley bottom like a striking Cobra, all menace, aggression, and terror.
Malcolm was already hatching his next devilment by the time I arrived at the top, shaken and stirred and in need of some splints for my legs that felt like 'under set' Jelly.

When its all over and you are fortified by Cake and Ale things never seem so bad.
Malcolm knows us well.
He gives you just enough pain - but not too much, to ensure that he gets to choose the route next year.
Isn't that what the devil would do?

All in all the day was spectacular and my stories have have exaggerated to new heights.
Thank You........ Lucifer

From Fat lads to Flat lands

When I used to play rugby I loved the way that the structure of the game embraced different physiology's.
In most sports only one 'body type' usually prevails with the athletic ''Mesomorph'  being the most common of three the other being the endomorph and the  Ectomorph
As a child I definitely wanted to be a Mesomorph, and after an early growing spurt I came quite close at the age of 13.
Unfortunately vertical growth gave way to that of the Horizontal type and the closest I got was being a mesomorph/endomorph mix. That was twenty years ago.
 I am now definitely an 'Endo' and really just have to accept it.

In rugby the tubbier, squat Enomorphs with their strong necks, and powerful legs provide an invaluable linchpin in any scrums formation. They are usually shorter and often hidden behind their more Herculean 'Mesos', but the Rugby 'Endos' can be easily spotted by their vegetable shaped ears.
With a low centre of gravity and bullish obstinacy they are able to push and grunt all day long  in any  elements that God might deliver.

They are always valued and often emerge to be the most unlikely of hero's.

There was also some space for the slighter wirey Ectomorph.
For me they always looked like they could do with intravenous drip of liquidised cream cakes.
Their light nimbleness is their greatest attribute, being able to waltz out of trouble and then run like Forrest Gump.

When I started cycling it was the Ectomorphs who appeared to dominate and be the chosen form.

On any mixed terrain they are accomplished and in the hills they are peerless.

When trying to hold a position in a 'Ecto' Paceline I would often find myself  gasping for breath.
They on the other hand would be idly chatting away.
' B*****D's!!!!'

Sometimes their greatest asset is also their Achilles heel. They hate strong side winds, where they bend and twist like weeping willows, often struggling to hold their bikes on line.

At the end of June I took on the 112 mile Flat out in the Fens for the forth year in a row.

The course is totally exposed and on previous years we had been blessed with fine weather.
This years summer has been so poor with frequent autumn type gales.
One particular gale, decided to join us and whipped up the wind over the fens.

Being a classic 'Endo' with a low centre of gravity, and shorter frame size the conditions were fine by me.
I found an easy rhythm  using my comedy over sized thighs to push the 'Diner plates' on my chain ring.
The 'Ectostickss' were not happy being blown from dyke to dyke. Where they could they sought refuge behind my rear wheel.
At one time I counted over thirty.
I was forced into a smile........
I was as happy that day as I once was on the rugby field.
Pushing and grunting all day long, in the weather that god had provided.

Unfortunately the road is not always flat and in most events the terrain is totally unsympathetic to us Tubby 'Endos'.
In ten days time I do the Big G which is 100 miles of climbing and descending up and around the East Yorkshire Wolds and Howardian Hills.
When I finished it last year I crossed the line totally spent and cursing.
I swore that I would never complete it again.
Curiously I must have registered this year whilst intoxicated or through some peer pressure as my number has mysteriously arrived and now mocks me daily.
Alarmingly last year I was  fitter, lighter and of course one year younger.

In a ridiculous attempt at some sort of reverse psychology I devised a plan to overcome my fears.
I thought that if I complete a much harder prior to this event,  then the main event might seem easy on the day!!!

With the plan hatched out came the ordnance survey Maps as I scoured the sheets for the illusive 'double chevrons'  >> indicating the most brutal of climbs.
My 'hillometer' inclined towards the North Yorkshire Moors.

Curiously Her Majesties Stationary office must have had their office party when they printed this particular map as there appeared to be some sort of chevron spillage.......they were everywhere!!!!! >>>>>>>>>
This was the place.>>>>>>>>>>>>

......>>>>>>>>>>.........>>>>>>>>>>

Early on Saturday morning I was joined by two Mesomorphs and an Ectomorph to bear witness to my fool hardiness. 

We set off at 7am from Sledmere in the East Yorkshire Wolds. 

Jokingly I taunted my fellow riders with tales of roads so steep that only tractors could get up them, something I regretted later.

We energetically moved quickly onto the Vale of Pickering and on to Thornton le Dale where we started to climb.

During the first gradients, limited conversations were just possible as we moved up into the North Yorkshire Moors National Park.

From there we headed towards Lockton and Levisham when we were abruptly stopped in our tracks.

Our jaws dropped our mouths muted.

To me it was obvious....I must have misread the map and we had come to the edge of a cliff.

After checking again and again It dawned on me that this was actually the Mystic world of double chevrons, You know......The ones with roads so steep that only tractors could be used.

If ever there was a time that I wanted to resign my Endomorph status.....It was now.
I could hear every muscle in my legs screaming as I cajoled my Mule up each climb.

In the Yorkshire Wolds we are used to seeing the 16% gradient sign....even the very rare 20%

But here the baby Brutes were 20% with Mum and Dad 25% and 33% respectively.
If ever there was an argument to introduce three chevrons >>> it was here.

So on we went through Levisham and across the rail track which hosts the North Yorkshire Moors Steam railway. We then climbed through a pine forest up to Stape. By now the topography had changed to barren moorland punctuated with splashes of deep purple heather.

Once on top of the Moor we headed North towards Egton Bridge.  With all the rain that we had been experiencing I was concerned about a number of 'Fords' that we had to cross. The first we encountered presented no more than a photo opportunity with the water just lapping the edge of the road.

Later we came across Wheeldale Gill at the bottom of a small gully.
The picture below shows the location on a normal day.
This was no normal day. We came across it after a months rain fall had fallen in the previous 24 hrs.
The water was a frothy mass of brown liquid .....a bit like Guinness, although moving at a far greater rate than from a glass to my mouth.

Duncan a new addition to our Saturday adventures did not wait for a debate about how to overcome such an obstacle. Bravely he accelerated parting the waters like a modern day Moses. Like the many Lambs on the moortop we followed suit.

I know I am often prone to exaggeration but in this case there is no need.
As I rode through the deluge the water came half way up my calf and physically moved me sideways a few inches.

 From Egton Bridge we knocked off the 20%+ climbs like a walker bags a Munro moving across the Esk Valley to Grosmont and Sleights. From there it was up Blue Bank and onto the Hole of Horcum Via Goathland.

 By the time we had reached that stage any future ride was going to feel easy especially the next ten miles with a gradual decent to Pickering. Amazingly my legs decided that I could use them again and during that stretch we we close to 30mph for most of the passage.
The rest of the Journey back to Sledmere was pretty routine with some 16% climbs....Paaaaaaaah
I'm the first Endo in the 33% club.

It was a great ride, great company and great pain if there is such a thing

This Charming Man

A punctured bicycle
On a hillside desolate
Will nature make a man of me yet ?

When Morrisey wrote the iconic song 'This Charming Man' I am quite certain that 'cycling' was the last thing on his mind or was it?

Music can mean so many different things for, so many people. Who am I to question whether or not the erudite 'Smiths' front man may have actually known the difference between his deraillers and his front bracket.
I do believe that the opening to the song is pure genius and it can work in a number of different ways.

Does the punctured bicycle refer to an actual tyre 'puncture'?

Or could it be that the gradient of the desolate hillside has punctured the riders ambitions?

'Will nature make a man of me yet'
Surely this must mean that being 'at one' with nature allows you discover yourself - to become a man.
Or if you climb lots of hills, your fear of the more arduous aspects of cycling will lessen - you will become a better rider.
Not wishing do be sexist ....you will 'Man up'.

Anyway Mr Morrisey as well as banging out a half decent tune you have also got my brain working. Is that not the aim of art????
Enough literary stuff...........

This weekend saw my 15th consecutive day cycling.


Rather than look for an excuse to lie in or get a rest, Bob and I searched for some desolate hillsides of our own in the form of Dalby Forrest and the North Yorkshire Moors..................before finally heading to Scarborough.
It was a tough arduous ride but with the constantly changing scenery it felt like we travelled across a whole country.
Enjoy the pictures....Happy cycling

What a difference a day makes

This weekend was totally exasperating!!!!!!!
My good friend Simon and I had decided some time ago that we would take our bikes up onto the North Yorkshire Moors.
Our plan was to park in 'Thornton le Dale' then cycle up through Dalby Forest onto the Moors to Goathland (The setting for the TV Series Heartbeat) and somewhere I used to live.
We would then have some lunch and maybe a pint of the local ale before boarding the North Yorkshire Moors Steam Train to Pickering, only three miles from where our car was parked.

It is a journey I have done once before, the scenery is quite breathtaking, with a view from the top of the moors whilst cycling, and from the deep gorged valleys on the return journey by Train.
So last weekend It was finally decided that this Saturday would be the day.

During the middle of last week, heavy snow was forecast for Saturday, with Sunday due to be fine and Sunny.
Undeterred we simply changed our plans to Sunday.
On Friday night the forecast had changed with both days due to be fine.
After consulting Simon we decided to stick with our new arrangements.

Needing to get my mileage in I decided to go out on Saturday as well. I had my most enjoyable ride this year, and was able to maintain a shadow on the road throughout, riding in brilliant sunshine, although it was still bitterly cold.
I only did 37 miles wanting to preserve my energy for the next day, It did however include lots of climbing (2500ft). As I took in the various vistas I thought how great it would be on the Moors and relished the prospect of cycling on Sunday.


When its sunny the Moors look beautiful in any season, when its not they look very bleak especially in winter.

On Sunday Simon was picking me up at 7am, and as I turned on the early morning news I saw a new weather warning.

Heavy snow.........arriving within the next two hours.

It was the only weather forecast that delivered !!!!!!!!

So another Sunday lost to the weather.

We have been told that this has been the worst winter since 1963. I therefore decided to look for archived material for that year. Curiously I found a video of a film called 'snow'.

It featured, moorland, snow and old steam trains, the only thing that It was missing was two over weight middle aged cyclists. It seemed quite apt to mention it in this blog.

Snow was filmed by Geoffrey Jones a documentry film maker. It was filmed for British Transport Films (BTF) but it owes its existence to a happy twist of fate. In September 1962 Jones began his research for a film about design for the British Railways Board. Armed with a 16mm camera, he travelled throughout the country, shooting film 'notes' of anything he found particularly interesting.

Viewing the footage, Jones was struck by several images of black steam trains churning down the tracks against a glaring white backdrop, and hit upon the idea of making a new, separate film contrasting the comfort of the passengers with the often Herculean efforts of the workmen to keep the trains going in hazardous conditions. On January 31st, 1963 Jones met with BTF head Edgar Anstey. Realising that the film would have to be made quickly or delayed until the following winter, Anstey agreed straightaway and shooting commenced the very next day. Jones and his barebones crew proceeded to chase winter conditions across the country.

Unable to afford his first choice of music, 'Teen Beat' by American Jazz musician Sandy Nelson, Jones had British musician Johnny Hawksworth re-record the tune, expanding it to twice its original length by reducing it to half its original speed at the start and steadily accelerating the tempo over a period of eight minutes to a speed approximately twice as fast as the original. Daphne Oram of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop added various filters.

Viewing Snow can be a hypnotic experience. Jones begins the film with a slow military throb, with the railway station and tracks all but buried beneath a mountain of snow and ice. The pace increases with the workmen's clearing of the tracks, and while the trains barrel through the snow-covered countryside, the music accelerates. The percussive editing between trains and environment reaches a joyous crescendo with a rapid succession of pounding snow, churning pistons, fields of livestock and the ever-present tracks, ending in a wild flourish of percussion.

Snow received at least 14 major awards upon its release, as well an Oscar nomination in 1965. It has been screened around the world and remains a favourite of fans of Geoffrey Jones' work and British Transport Films. Most importantly, this film marked the first full realisation of Jones' signature style, which he would expand upon and refine in subsequent films like Rail (1966), Trinidad and Tobago (1964) and Locomotion (1975). Report from James White

Here is a link to the film.............Its 7 mins of

very clever cinematography.

Next week Simon and I will give it another go and make our own film called 'No Snow'

Thursdays Thrifty Fifty

With further heavy snow forecast for this Saturday, I was concerned that my ambitions to maintain and increase my weekly mileage might be severely compromised.

So instead of sulking I took the day off work and headed for the seaside.

Despite being bitterly cold it was a nice fast run and I broke through the 50 miles mark for for the first time this year.

Two years ago I would have been overjoyed at such an achievement but 50 miles became a routine training ride last summer. Never mind it is progress and if the snow holds off I may get over 100 miles in for the week. I am planning to venture onto the North Yorkshire Moors on Sunday weather permitting. Should be able to get some great photos as I am joined by my old training buddy Simon who might be coerced into being a Cameraman

I'm really looking forward to those 25% gradients.

Stay on the road...keep clear of the moors

During the early part of the Year I took part in the Cheshire Cat cycle Sportive. It was a gruelling early season ride of 102 miles with lots of very big hills including the infamous 'Mow Cop' with a 25% incline.
At that time I was 30lbs heavier than I am now and was forced to walk up most of this monster.
The rest of the ride was equally painful. Although not as steep it nearly ruined my appetite for cycling and certainly put a question mark on my love for climbing.
I remember to this day how my legs shook like a jelly on a washing machine, how the cramp seized me up and how I literally threw up............nice!!!!!!


I have always liked climbing, well actually its a kind of a love/hate thing.
I love the challenge it brings, the view at the top and of course the white knuckle descents.
When your riding on the flat and the pace is a little too hot, you can just slow down.
Climbing is different.
The choices are minimal.
Slowing down from a pace just quicker than a snail is impossible.
You either look for a convenient place to have a controlled stop or you fall over on your F**king arse.
The first option has to be as precise as brain surgery or you just default to the falling on your F**king arse scenario anyway.
Since The Cheshire Cat my choice of climbing has been somewhat conservative with a very small 'c', especially now that I have lost the luxury of a triple ring.
I have avoided anything over 20% gradients unless the momentum from a descent is going to push me up the other side like the inertia you experience on a roller coaster.
As such I have avoided some of the most beautiful local countryside 'The fabulous North Yorkshire Moors'
This weekend all that changed!!!!!
In John Landis cult Horror Movie of the 1980s The American Werewolf in London, David Kessler and his side kick John Goodman are warned about going on the moor. It was good advice.

For me there were several beasts that ambushed me every couple of miles.

These were not hairy creatures with acute halitosis, but 'Gradient gargoyles' obviously related to Mow Cop and designed to halt all but the bravest cyclists.

Most notably was climb from Sleights (near Whitby) up to the moor top junction that takes you down to Goathland.
This particular climb is 25% and about three miles long called Blue Bank.

I have tried to research the origins of the name with little success but can only conclude that those who take it on might feel a little blue in both mood and the sickly appearance it induces once completed.

From the top, I turned down into Goathland and followed the villages along the Esk valley back into Whitby.

Each village not only displayed its name but proudly presented the gradients in an out of each one. It was as if they were taking part in some type of 'Piss the cyclist off contest.

I found no signs under 25% and plenty of signs warning against vehicular use.

The two days in the Moors only rendered a pitiful 80 miles, but with over 12,000 feet of climbing and some demons put to rest, I was happy to exchange miles for altitude.




Training

I have now gone through the 4,000 mile mark completing 4,060 miles. Only 712 miles to Houston in my virtual ride which now takes me through to Birmingham, Alabama. We have our own Birmingham in England, but I am positive it is not as nice as the Southern States version.

It is the home of Two great blogs I follow:- Bici Cooperative http://www.bicicoop.org/ and Bike skirt http://bikeskirt.blogspot.com/ they are both entertaining and informative.