Penny (Thieving) Farthing

This weekend the clocks went back, which signalled the start of what I would call true winter.
It is a time when everything to do with cycling become more arduous and less pleasurable.
A time when even the pros have some time off before moving to the Southern Hemisphere for the start of next season.

As a velo commuter, cycling at this time of year it is even worse.
The weather at 5.30 am is often very different from that at 3.00 pm which is no more contrasting than with temperature.
When leaving work people sarcastically ask 'If I am going to be warm enough' when the only flesh I have exposed to the elements is the part of my face used for seeing and communicating.

You need to become an expert in logistics and grasp a full understanding of  meteorology.
Learning to read the body language of the weather forecaster is also useful.
Experience has told me the more they smile, the more likely they are to be lying or something bad  is on the way.
They don't like the mundane, the more dramatic the weather is the happier they are.




Cycling with the added weight of multiple layers, cycle boots, wet roads and my winter bike, getting any 'Personal Records' on Strava is a pipe dream, something that I cant even consider until blossoms forms on the 2014 trees.
The notable exception may come with Northerly Gales.
With my coat unzipped and held out like a fluorescent spinnaker and standing high on the pedals there is always an outside chance.

Its ironic that during the Summer I am totally focused about pedaling as fast as I can.
All of my attention is on the ride.
Now winter is here, my commuting is just about getting to work.
The ride is rarely enjoyable, but a means to an end.
It does however give me the opportunity to think

This year there are far more winter cyclists with grim faces - partially hidden by wool and gortex
I ask myself why? Is it any wonder!

With the government doing there very best to ensure that the fuel companies get every penny they can from us - the recession still bites.
It provides many with a feeling of financial oppression and discrimination.
A feeling that your very soul is up for grabs.

Household fuel and petrol prices cripple household budgets.
Rents rents remain significantly higher than mortgages and now rise further in line with property inflation.
This is heralded as the start of 'our' financial recovery.
Recovery for who......shareholders, bankers and landlords who are seemingly the new power brokers.

Our next generation remain ignored, in a perpetual sense of despair with no hope of ever owning their own home.
Whilst the rich employee tax avoidance specialists pushing any revenue possibilities into the 'Too hard to do tray' the Treasury is forced to look elsewhere to try and balance the books.
To follow the route of least resistance and hammer the rest of us.

Thankfully pedal power is non taxable.
I like many other victims of government cut backs and pay freezes am forced to ask the same question each morning 'Is there any good reason why I cant cycle'
With free travel and the availability of a free hot shower at work its hard to argue against.

The act, when completed feels like a double bonus, like I am redressing the balance in some way.

I remind myself that winter miles count double and try not to think that the world is conspiring against me. Its not always easy.

On Friday in a rare commute by car, I got caught up in evening Traffic.........Literally.
Whilst stationary, and contemplating the pros and cons of a triple or compact chain set,
I got smashed from behind ending my relationship with four wheels and stopping my winter training.

Today, In order to exact a further squeeze on me I was called by a government official who suggested that my blog 'Travels with my Mule' might be considered as a source of revenue to seize.

Frankly Its quite pitiful

Hopefully Cycling, like the freedom of Speech, and Expression will continue to be Free.
Where two wheeled anarchists can continue to write and pedal.
Leaving their trail of literary commissions scattered in the wind.

I did write a poem recently and welcome any offers to provide me with some additional revenue for interested parties.

Ode to Winter Cycling

Double layers, boots and raincoat,
Goodbye to that lovely summer,
Wet roads, wind and darkness greets,
And that ice cold puddle enema....

150 days and counting
Of chill brains on my toes
Of recharging my illuminations
And drying my sodden clothes

I wish I was in Texas
With the sun still on my back
Riding in bib shorts all year round
And the option of a cowboy hat

 

The Golden Globe

If you ever got stuck in a lift in Leeds, London or Liverpool with three strangers what would you expect the 'Ice breaker' to be?
The answer is something that bookmakers would not even take bets on - The Weather.

We seem totally obsessed with talking about it.

Comments about the weather seem to have the same importance and promote the same passions as ones favorite football team.

When people snarl on monday morning, muttering that it was a 'bloody diascrace', its difficult to work out whether or not they are talking about Hull Citys woeful performance or that of the local weather man.

Daily courtesies have been hijacked - with the traditional 'Good Morning' being replaced by 'Hasnt it been cold lately' 

I have to confess with five apps on my phone relating to the weather I too have been influenced
Almost hourly looking to see how wet, windy and warm it may or may not be.

Whilst others might be gauging this phenomenon for the possibility of golf, gardening or alfresco gastronomy. For me its about Cycling.
The early season sportives have supplied weather conditions so adverse that I would not normally consider recreational riding.
High Winds, driving rain and plummeting temperatures were delivered in good measure, its been so grim.
However having forced myself to take part, I have now become conditioned.
Poor weather seems to have become part of my cycling arena.

If I was being reviewed by a Psychiatrist and they showed me association cards it would be easy peasy

Down hill Skiing = Snow
Beach Volleyball = Sunshine
Cross country Skiing = Snow
Sand castle competition = Sunshine
Snow ball Fights = Snow
Sailing = Wind
Kite Surfing = Wind
Wet T shit competition = Rain
Mud Wrestling = Rain
Cycling = Wind, rain , Freezing Cold
100%

Its not such a bad thing though - It takes away any deliberation.
Before I used to talk myself out of rides.
'Its far too windy'
'Its far too cold'
'Its too wet'
I now just go out and pedal........... and let the weather take care of itself.
If its poor,
I expect it.....If its better than poor
I smile because its always a bonus.

On one such recent day we took off to Dalby Forrest in North Yorkshire.
It was a chilly start, but soon we saw this Golden Globe in the sky which seemed to emanate a greater degree of light and some unaccustomed warmth.
Coats, and arm warmers were discarded, dark lenses were clicked into eye frames and perspiration was encountered.
After much debate we decided that the celestial object might be the sun, but none of us could quite remember what it looked like.

As Bobby was wearing his Arizona Cycle jersey with the sun brazened across the chest we thought that it may have been seen as some sort of Celtic offering of appeasement to nature.
That the Gods had seen his Cycle Jersey and blessed us.
What we all agreed on was that it was welcome.

A great day was had by all and other days soon followed.
Summer may have arrived as far as the Calendar is concerned but the Winter Gloves, booties and Coat are still in the hallway.



One of our American Mules Dani Hochleutner recently summoned up the weather far better than I ever could :-

The COLD just makes me angry, so I have learned to be well equipped.

The RAIN makes little difference to me, surprisingly. I simply adjust my speed and feel a bit like a little kid again.

The WIND. I looked up the definition of wind and it said "air in its natural movement" which sounds harmless enough. But HEAD WINDS and CROSS WINDS batter at my confidence and have me question my resolve. Thoughts like "go home", "just quit", "turn around" hit me with each peddle stroke. And then that infamous TAIL WIND whispers false confidence that I am better than I actually am.

So I learn something about myself every time I get on my bike. I learn how to be with the reality of who I am, in a world I can't control, and to adjust. Easily, calmly and thoughtfully I move into alignment with the elements of my resistance to becoming something better, faster, and stronger. And eventually I make it back home.
Happy Cycling

New Directions

As usual with this time of the year I 'read' with in interest the various pro Riders tweets and blogs about the forth coming season.
The GreenEDGE Antipodeans, The Brit Pack at TeamSky and the Final chapter of The Armstrong Saga. All enthralling, the later of which must surely have been penned into a screenplay by now. If they want pain Id volunteer as an Extra.

For a cycling blogist I can sometimes get away with reading, being in the arena instead of on the stage. Whether it be for research, amusement or Inspiration, I can still convince myself that it has some preparatory place.

Sadly this process can not offer any cardio vascular improvement, although I do get excited when I read about how well Cav and Bradley are doing. The only singular physical benefit of reading that my imagination could conjure up was the skill in sitting in one position for a long period of time.... doesn't that count as training?

Yeah that it, I have been practising sitting down for long periods of time for a the winter months. So what about the bloging then?

Yeah well .....Ok, I admit it my fingers have been as lazy and as sedentary as my maximus glutimous.

This reading process should not be totally underestimated although as it does herald the start of my own preparations, a seasonal alarm clock If you like, to move me from the public bar over to my handle bars.

A gentle reminder to start shedding those winter pounds that I so greedily added when the days were getting shorter. ......that enough now, get on with it Philip !!!!!!!!

So as Geraint Thomas and Co write about 'Balearic base camps' and 'Canary Island carry ons' and I am shamed into action.

With the temperature gauge hovering over freezing and the sky thick with the threat of snow I determine that its time.

Systematically I pull up my sealz socks and slip on my recently acquired cycling BOOTS.

I say Boots rather than Shoes because these Shimano MW81 Gore-Tex Winter babies are all BOOT.

Their downside is that they are heavier than most TDF Road bikes and restrict any real dynamic movement, as if I was capable right now!!!!!!

The upside is that they do ward off the frostbite and keep your feet as cosy as the Sofa seat in The Corner House Pub.

Remember my play area -Its Patrington - Not Palma, Tickton and not Tenerife.
Whilst the Pros add layers of sun block,I add layers of clothing and Vaseline (That's all together another story)

So again the keyboard sees little tapping, but the pedals some as I try and drag by over inflated torso up even the most benign of gradients.

At the start of each year I curse, and then blog about my curses - My unique power weight ratio This could be compared to our currency exchange rate.

Having hundreds of Lbs gets you nowhere these days.

I do get my Lbs and ££££ mixed up.

This year will be different, I promise myself whilst finishing off that weekend bottle of Red and signing up for the Cheshire Cat at the end of March. After I had paid the entry fee Joanne reminded me about why I had not entered it over the past two years.

'Cant you remember the pain and the nauseous exhaustion four years ago, when you were younger, lighter and fitter?'

Its funny how that sort of pain is very temporary.

Well this year has to be different. As well as the usual challenges Paddy(My Twin) holds a carrott, a golden one. The possibility of taking part in the Waves to Wine (San Fransisco to Napa Valley) in September with proper climbs and a brother with a point to prove.

Its no longer a case of 'It would be nice to be really fit'

I have no Choice.

This Saturday I ventured out. It was -3 degrees, with Ice and a dusting of snow.

At one time Simon reached for a drink to find the contents of his water bottle frozen. It was grim.

We went to the Humber bridge and raced back to avoid the Blizzard that was forecast.

I guess we all have to start somewhere

Ambition is the last refuge of Failure

When Oscar Wilde wrote that 'ambition is the last refuge of failure' people applauded at yet another insightful phrase from this perceptive wordsmith.
Once the clapping had died down they then argued about what was meant by it.
This in turn ironically played the phrase out as ambitious scholars had to accept that their own interpretations were possibly flawed.
My own take on this is that 'Ambition' is a positive attribute, a driving force, a will to succeed.
Where could 'failure' possibly find a refuge in such a state of mind?

I believe that Wilde probably perceived that with ambition there comes 'challenges'. A desire to do something 'out of your comfort zone' or 'out of reach' .

With such new ventures there is always a greater possibility of failure because of the unknown. Life often requires practice, a succession of dress rehearsals. How many times do you get things right the first time?

Last Saturday Simon and I took part in the Pocklington Pedal Challenge 100 mile sportive. A traditional type sportive with challenges provided through frequent arduous climbs, zig-zagging between the Vale of York and the East Yorkshire Wolds. It included two trips into Thixendale an idyllic village only accessible to riders who have put in their winter training. Somewhere you would be as happy to leave as you would to arrive. To visit twice by different routes was as imaginative as it was sadistic. I can just imagine the organisers having a jolly good laugh as they thought up that one !!!!

On arriving at the start I was overcome with a great sense of unease as I walked to the signing on area. The gale force blustery winds were tugging at my clothes and caused me to tilt forwards in order to make progress. As we lined up for the start I surveyed the depleted entrants knowing that the remainder had sensibly silenced alarms and pulled the covers back over there helmetless heads. It was one moment in time that I was actually grateful for my additional poundage as some of the stickmen would surely be blown from hill tops. We were set off in two minute intervals and Simon and I took up the rear, with an almost immediate call of nature by Simon we were soon adrift. The first hill soon arrived the 400 feet, 16% gradient, and 35 mph headwind was a difficult equasion but =3.8mph of progress. It also required the skill of a high wire performer required to remain on two wheels. After 35 miles we started overtaking folk.........some who were forced to walk up some of the hills due to the wind/gradient conspiracy.

After 75 miles we were as close to the finish as we had been all day. Simon was suffering the psychological affects of having me glued to his wheel all day. Sensibly it was a position I was eager not to relinquish without a significant reduction in speed. He questioned the satisfaction and pleasure that the day had brought and suggested that we call it a day. I agreed.

So is this failure Mr Wilde?.........No way. Surely in these circumstances the lack of achievement is never 'failure' but merely a lack of success.
As I complete this blogpost I am following the weather for tomorrows sportive in Lincolnshire.

High winds and torrential rain.......................Although I intend to start there may be some further 'lack of success'.......... and ample supplies of water.

Trick Cycling

January was a good month for me.


After failing to reach my goal of 6,000 miles cycled last year I was determined to reach it this year. My plan is to try and beat last years monthly total each month which would put me well on target.
In January 2010 I cycled 94 miles
January 2011 558 miles plus ten lbs lost.


Apart from gifting us with sub zero temperatures, the weather this January remained mainly dry and I was able to commute most days.


Mid way into February the freezing arctic weather has been replaced by temperatures just above freezing. Not to be outdone by January, February has brought its own presents in the form of gales and heavy rain to ensure that the experience is equally unpleasant.


I'm not quite sure which experience I least like yet but I'm working on it.


Riding any length of time in the freezing cold is no fun so we are always on the look out for cycle friendly places to stop and warm our feet that serve good food and hot drinks The Gallery in South Cave
Certainly fits the bill serving us breakfast and preparing us for the climb up Brantingham Dale.
With a beautiful interior and gift shop/ gallery it is also a romantic setting for evening meals or intimate lunches.

Last Saturday the Anglo Mules embarked on a more challenging ride, wishing to increase our distance to over 50 miles and to find some climbs that make you wish you had pulled the covers over.

The weather did not look promising and Bobby and I watched the rain pour down from the bus shelter At our rendezvous point Dalton Holme

We encouraged each other using regular references to both the BBC and Met Office reports,that the rain would pass within the hour.

Which hour I asked impatiently?

despite my inbuilt optimism I sensed that such an hour would be one that may arrive sometime during the afternoon, way after I have got home and taken off my drenched clothes and maybe even when I might have stopped shivering.
Bobby was so disillusioned that he got into a nearby a telephone box - believing that it was some sort of mystic portal to take him home. I reminded him that 'Dr Who' had a blue police phone box and that the British Telecom ones were like the phones inside. 'Out of order'

Eventually Simon and Mark arrived like 'wheeled otters'.
With lots of stranding water and soil/flint washed off the fields the minor roads that we use were more suitable for mountain bikes.

I'm not a great fan of standing water as underneath there is often a pothole waiting to snatch at your wheel, nibble a few spokes and bend your rim.

For me potholes = ££££££

On one particular stretch I very masterfully announced that around the next bend 'The road may become difficult'

I explained that there was a very steep descent with a tight bend at the bottom, that the road would narrow and that there was a good chance of potholes.

Leading from the front I shot around the corner and soon accelerated up to 30mph.

Temporarily blinded by the rain in my face I adjusted my focus to see standing water ahead of me at the bottom of the hill.

Thankfully there was a narrow strip of 'causeway' in the middle of the road that attracted my heading.

As I got closer I noticed a small sharp piece of white flint smiling at me.

F**K me if it wasnt was right in the middle of my refuge.

I wanted to shout out.....to make it move but I guess it had been around since the Jurrasic period.

I was going too fast to break hard as the road was covered in a film of mud.

I missed it with my front wheel but before I could smile the rear Tyre popped like a champagne cork.

The sudden loss of air also meant a sudden loss of control and now I was fully submerged in the underwater pothole chicane.

Before I could reach for my life jacket .......Bang....... front tyre !!!!!!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!

For the next ten seconnds I fought to keep the bike upright and take off the spped.

Ten seconds does not seem long but when trying to keep your heart on the inside of your chest and your breakfast from covering the outside, ten seconds is a real drag.

Thankfully apart from my wounded pride there was no harm done and we stiill went on to do 53 miles.

Incidently I have just got my application form for the circus.

Bringing home the Bacon

Puncture at 4 miles - £4.99
Puncture at 29 miles - £4.99
Two inner tubes given to stranded cyclists - £9.88
Ridicule faced at being last up The Devils Chimney - £12 round of drinks
Full English Breakfast by a roaring fire - Priceless
There are some things that money cant buy
But for everything else there are pounds shillings and pence.


Although the weather is still too cold for most people not to be able to turn off their TVs and venture out, the weather has been good for cycling.
Dry with light winds.
So as long as you are wrapped up well there are some miles to be had and I have been trying to get them in.
This Saturday saw the Anglo Mules have their first training ride of the year and it was democratically decided that we should have a challenging climbing route to sort out the Christmas puddings from the salad bowls.
My singular vote was as useful as voting Liberal democrat
I certainly came in the Christmas pudding category having to bully my burden up every incline.
This endeavour caused much merriment with my fellow salad bowls who seemingly had the ability to pedal, laugh and make up fattest jokes - all at the same time.
I was just shattered.
Whether it was the pull of gravity or the fact that I had already cycled the previous 5 days I don't know, but my legs and lungs were fighting to have their say on proceedings.

I had the presence of mind to not raise the issue of my previous weeks toils.
To do so would have been futile and only encourage more ridicule.

At one point it was humorously pointed out that it was in fact a 'good thing' that I had not brought along my Heart Rate Monitor.
The general consensus was that the readings alone could have caused my old ticker to stop.

To make matters worse I got two punctures.
Last year I had none.
In the summer you can almost get away without having tyre leavers. In the winter you need a full wheel brace !!!! applied with glove less hands.
By the time you have finished your hands make perfect beer coolers.

The second puncture came after we had assisted some cyclist up in the wolds who had multiple punctures and had run out of inner tubes. He and his partner were given two of ours.

The net result of this was that my second puncture (Thankfully a slow one) could not be remedied directly.
It meant that every half a mile I had to stop and pump my tyre up.
I had to chuckle to myself as I thought of Johan Bruyneel jumping out of his Radio Shack car and inflating the teams tyres as they rode in the Tour de France.

Despite the Ridicule, the sweat the exhaustion, and despite the mechanical it all seemed incidental when we had our post ride breakfast with some important hydration.
The fact that I had broken through 400 miles for the month of January in our coldest winter also warmed my spirits.

Beer and Toast................................................Why not I ask you ?????

I did not count these calories so don't snitch on me !!!!!

Knowing when to sloe down

On Friday night I had the most intriguing dream .
It was one of those that was so lucid that you really believe it is true.
I was on a train that had just pulled away from a station and realised that I had left my cycle on the platform.
The train was crowded with people standing and I frantically battled towards the conductor to plead for him to reverse the train.
Rather than laugh he replied 'Ok Sir I will see what we can do'
Rather disgruntled all of the other passengers gave a huge grown and stared at me.

Thankfully it was at that point that I woke - up never knowing whether I was to be thrown out of the window or reunited with my bike.

Not wanting to leave anything to chance I got up and ran downstairs to be comforted by my ever faithful 'Ralph' (Ralph the Ridgeback Tourer). He had subtly propped himself up against the radiator, not missing a trick for some additional warmth I noted.

I also noticed outside that the road was dry and the that the temperature was above zero.....just !!!!!!!
This meant that there was no real excuse to not go out riding, not even using the 30 mph winds outside which were trying to break an entry into my house.
So we set off - Me, Simon and Bobby on the first 'Anglo Mule' training ride of the year.
We decided on a circular Route to ensure that the wind would be able to have a good go at 'all sides' of our over-stretched torsos.
As Simon had already completed 13 miles Cycling from Driffield to Beverley, we decided to include Driffield on the way home via some compulsory climbing around Lonsborough and Water.
For 'anybody' standing roadside, even the blessed a village idiot, it would be easy to reckon who had enjoyed Christmas the most.
Not for the fact the he spent most of the day lagging behind.
But due to the Rotund form, blowing red cheeks and red coat - yours truly was surely an honoury member of the St Nicholas appreciation Society.

As we approached Driffield the Heaven opened and Bobby and I were persuaded to take some shelter and have a warming cup of Coffee.
We had already completed 36 miles so I felt we were deserving of such an excursion.
As we sat in Simon's conservatory the rain mocked us, playing solemn tunes upon the glass panes above, in readiness for our departure.
Sensing the mood change Simon asked Bobby and I if we wanted to try some of his Sloe Gin that he made for Christmas.
Now Booby is a Scotsman and as such he believes that to refuse a drink from your fellow man is worse than sleeping with his wife.
I of course agreed and within a few short moments the red silky liquid was more than a match for the transparent stuff outside.
As I took the final mouth full of my second glass I politely enquired as to whether Simon knew the local train times.
It was as subtle a question as I could muster but nevertheless Simon saw right through it, as he topped up my glass.
There is something quite odd about drinking alcohol after prolonged vigorous exercise.
Its like being in a video on the 'stages of inebriation' with the button pressed on fast forward.
One second I was taking my first sip and before the minute hand had travelled a mere 180 degrees I was giggling like a teenage boy in church.
Bobby and I both agreed that the train idea was actually quite a good one and we toasted the concept with another glass and discussed the general merits of locomotives with our respective tongues firmly planted in cheeks..
After wobbling our way down to the station we attracted much mirth from the fellow travellers.
Two over 50s gents, seemingly respectable yet giggling with rudden faces and smelling like moonshine..................very curious and before Noon no less.

We had to wait for ten minutes for the train to come and when it arrived I stumbled towards the door, like a Hobo joining the soup kitchen line.
Bobby my dear friend then reminded me that I had set off that morning with Ralph and that it would be a shame to leave him in the station.

du pouvoir de la pédale à pied