Back to the bike!

Monday 26th March 2007

Clocks went forward at the weekend. This is a two-edged sword - nice to know we're on the way to warmer, lighter days. Not nice to have to get up an hour earlier.

Pimped mah tires for a bone-shaking ride - rattling like a size zero model in this year's modish metallics.

On the big hill can't see the mast for the mist until I'm almost upon it. Then there's the "Big-Hillock" which I am determined to go up in 2nd for a change.

Then the mist makes things a little boring (apart from invisible curlew burbling).

Word for today: mesmeric(mesmeric(mesmeric(mesmeric(mesmeric)))).

Leaving my bike in the usual place, I summon Rapunzel, but I'm kept waiting for longer than usual. Finally, it's Rapunzel 2 who appears. She seems a little hesitant, more breathless than usual. I notice a lingering miasma of man-sweat, and my suspicions are aroused. I decide to let discretion be the better part of valour, and step out on floor 5 to cleanse my body and thoughts.

Time out 0:57 mins
Time return 0:57 mins (slight tailwind into the village)

40mph down the hill into the village, caught this 4x4 up that had passed me earlier. Slowing to 30 on the outskirts - keeping what I supposed to be a safe distance between me and the 4x4 - until it anchored on to give way to oncoming traffic. One slightly panicky braking, rubber-burning moment later I’m safely undertaking it and slipping down the inside of the traffic calming (it didn’t calm me), to be on my way, laughing maniacally.

Tuesday 27th March 2007

Weather same as yesterday; perhaps a bit more misty. Pipits doing descending parachuting flights unseen, but heard. Can they see the sun up there?

Seem to make it up the Big-Hill, but can't be bothered with 2nd on the Big-Hillock. The Big Hillock is the hill on back of the Big-Hill: just when you think you've conquered the Big-Hill you have a half a mile of gentle rolling then you're confronted with the "Big-Hillock". Hmm, Hillock raised to the power of Hill = Hillockplex, perhaps.

After the Big-Hillock the following orders are given:
"Raise port and starboard bipedal thrusters"
"Thrusters raised, sir"
"Decompress gonadal clusters"
"Clusters decompressed, sir"

This task accomplished, we can settle gingerly back in the saddle and continue on our way. (I run a tight ship).

Time out 0:59 mins
Time return 0:57 mins

Wednesday 28th March 2007

Fog again. Eyes down as we go up the slope, but before we hit the big hill, look up and it's clear! Sun is a ball just breasting the horizon. Frost on the fields. Mega curlew action gives me some fascinating sights as I twiddle upwards. The hills are alive with the sound of curlews. "Movin' on up" by Primal Scream seems appropriate.
There's one landing gracefully on a wall. Stands in silhouette as I approach. I could dawdle here. A pair of binoculars would be useful. Ah well, press on.

All the curlews seem to be on the Oxenhope side of the moor, not much on the Halifax side.

Fine view of cotton wool lying in the valleys, sun do your stuff! Burn, Baby, Burn (misto inferno).

Dropping down into town, I'm cycling along a road which is clear, but just over the wall on my left is just a sea of nothingness.

End of Cycle lane - what a joke. Why do they bother? The cycle lane provision in this country is absolutely lamentable, and Halifax one of the direst. There only seem to be cycle lanes on roads which would be quite safe without them. Whereas, at danger spots, where separate cycle provision would be useful, you're squeezed in with all the other traffic. What cycle lanes that do exist are usually obstructed by parked cars anyway, so you're for ever having to pull out into the carriageway to avoid them.

If you want to see proper cycle provision, just go to Holland. This should be required of all our road planners. No cyclist wears a helmet in Holland, why? Because they're far less likley to get hit by cars. Where they do share the roads, car drivers give way to cyclists. Where cycle paths cross roads, cyclists have there own push buttons for the traffic lights.

My thoughts on helmets. A couple of decades ago, I used to mix it with the traffic on a commute from Bradford to Bingley. In those days I had several incidents, a few of which led to close encounters of the third kind. Luckily no damage to me. The odd bent wheel, a nice scrape on the bonnet of a Triummph stag. These were invariably caused by "blind" motorists. Eventually I was so paranoid, I lost my nerve and stopped using the bike. Then along came helmets, and these gave me, "cycle-logically", the confidence I needed to venture out onto the road again. I don't care about the arguments as to whether they're effective or not, it's my belief they do offer protection, and make you more conspicuous. The latter point is very important where the blind motorist is concerned. Who cares if they make you look like a d**khead. Better a live d**khead than a dead pinhead. So wearing a helmet is for me, as they say "A no-brainer"

Then into the cool steam bath. Slow down, not much visibility. Watch out for cars pulling out from side-streets.

Coming back, I was overtaken by a runner. Took me several miles of uphill struggle before I caught up with him. Asked him if he was going far. "16" was his reply. "Just going up to the Withens, then I'm heading back home."
(So he's just done the last 8 miles at this blistering pace - I nearly threw the bike in the hedge in disgust). "That's a relief, see you later." I quipped as I struggled past him. Knowing there were only a few hundred yards before his turning point, I felt there was a chance I might not see him later. Blimey what a fit guy. I asked Zefal to keep an eye on him in case he caught me up again, in my futile battle against gravity. Thankfully, I made it up to the Withens before him, (or maybe he just took pity on me).

Time out 0:58 mins
Time return 1:06 mins

Dad's bike free week (but still the stories flow)!

Monday 19th – Friday 23rd March

No bike this week, for 3 reasons
Busy at work so can’t afford the extra time it takes to cycle to and from work, get showered etc.
Snow on Monday, so wintry weather not very enticing.
Matthew, who usually has the car for school, and consequently gives a lift to 2 other lads from the village the 6 miles to North Halifax, is on a Geography field trip Tuesday to Thursday. So I use the car to do the school run, continuing in to work.

Further shock news, regarding Sheldon Brown, whom, apropos of nothing, I decided to name-check in last week’s blog. The man has begun to develop symptoms which are very akin to MS (although he has three neurologists baffled). This is all very ironic, as we are doing our charity cycle ride in aid of the MS Society.

Reading his journal (www.sheldonbrown.org/journal/health) I was immediately struck by the similarity between what he is having to endure, and the sort of problems which afflicted my father as he slowly succumbed to this debilitating disease.

In more optimistic times, my father had bought a 1956 model Raleigh gentleman’s roadster, with the 3-speed Sturmey Archer, Brooks saddle, rod brakes, full chainguard and chrome plated all over. I particularly remember the chrome ‘bullet’ on the crest of the front mudguard. “Raleigh – the all steel bicycle” was the strapline in those days. I used to wonder how this could be true, since such things as the tyres were obviously made of rubber. I suppose the Trades Descriptions Act put paid to that. Anyway, nowadays they wouldn’t wish to make such a claim, because the “All Alloy bicycle” or the “All Titanium bicycle” or the “All Carbon fibre bicycle” might be more appealing.

Back to my dad. We lived on a post war council estate in Longbenton, and he had a job at the Ministry of National Insurance just up the road. Every day he would return from work on the bike, and I would run up the road to meet him. He would be wearing his working clothes of sports jacket and cavalry twill trousers (or maybe a two piece suit – not sure of the details). It was only a short commute, and the chainguard ensured clothes remained clean, although bicycle clips were also de rigeur - cotter pins could do a bit of damage to trouser legs. Of course it never rained in those days, but if it did, a cycle cape could be worn, and by keeping the speed down, everything under the cape stayed dry. A trilby would have probably kept the hair dry. This is me at the age of 4. He would pick me up, and plonk me on the crossbar, clinging anxiously to the centre section of the handlebars (me, not dad). Then we would set off the couple of hundred yards to the block on which we lived. My first taste of the exhilaration of cycling (not to mention the pain of sitting on something hard).

That bike, and Dad, are long gone. But I still have the handbook with the date, and the stamp of Halfords in Newcastle, where he bought it. Which brings us back to the modern day equivalent, which I’m now using for my all-weather commute. This is the Carrera Subway 8, with the Shimano Nexus 8-speed hub gear. Similar colour (dark grey), aluminium frame, hub brakes, and not a piece of chrome in sight. And bought from Halfords, too. Nearly 50 years separate them. Like me and my Dad, bearing a family resemblance, but different in so many ways.

Another week

Monday 12th March

Birds: not many in evidence, unless you count a couple of pigeons on the parapet while I have my shower at work. Coo, Coo.

Another discarded household object has materialised in the dead of night through a hole in the fabric of space-time.

Today it's a bath, complete with chrome taps, which presumably was innocently minding it's own bathly business before being abducted by aliens and subjected to probing examination. Finally being beamed down here in a bewildered state,
with nothing but a diffuse memory of the intrusive probes and rays which were used to inspect it's molecular structure and intricate plumbing work.

There is no other feasible explanation for its arrival at this desolate spot.

Getting closer to town, plenty of 4x4's all around guzzling gas, while I speed by on my 2x1, oozing smug self righteousness. All together now:

"Two wheels on my wagon, but I'm still rollin' along.
Those Cherokees are after me,
grindin' gears burn my ears,
but I'm singin' a happy song.
I'm a-singin' higgety haggety hoggety high
Pioneers they never say die....(bear with me on this one, it'll be worth it in the end)...
....about a mile down the road there's a hidden cave, and we can watch those Jeep Cherokees gas guzzlin' by."

South-Wester this morning with just a smattering of rain in it. Strong, but not too gusty, and it didn't seem to bother me too much after the success of yesterday's practice run with Georgina. 22 miles of mixed terrain, not bad, we just have to do slightly over 3 times that amount per day, and we're winning.
CORNWALL, BRING IT ON!

Time out: 1.04

Sad news. One of our support team will not be making the journey this summer.
I refer to Bonnie, our lovely 15-year-old Cairn Terrier who is no longer with us. She had not been well since Friday, had a bad day today. Son Matthew gave me a lift back home after work (put bike in back of car) so that I could make it to the vets in time to meet Jacky and Georgina. We reluctantly took the decision to "put her to sleep" as the euphemism goes. She had lost that spark, and it was a very emotional moment. Everyone most upset. We laid her to rest in the garden in the shade of a Hawthorn bush.

Curlewsday 13th March

Sunny as I left the village. It looked almost Mediterranean, but appearances were very deceptive. Patches of frost here and there in the grass bankings. Happy-sad memories of Bonnie whirling round my mind.

Curlews in abundance. A couple of lapwings with voices like Mister Punch (That's the way to) "Doowit" says one, "Doowit" replies t'other. Then the mist descends - well actually I ascend into it, like a Saint going to meet his maker in days of yore. The sun and the mist are playing hide-and-seek. Now you see it now you don't. Glow/no-Glow. Radiate, obfuscate, radiate, obfuscate.

That bath's still there. Except it's been robbed of its taps (probably with the aid of a hammer, as the fibre-glass is all smashed). Not very humane treatment.
A trail of detritus despoils this moorland paradise. PET bottles (a pet bottle is not just for Christmas!). Lager cans. Old computers. The worst offenders are the tyre-dumpers. The punishment I would advocate for them has unfortunately been unavailable to the judiciary since medieval times.

Descending to Halifax, the sun wins the game, and all's well with the world again, despite the strong breeze.

Don't ask me whence came “Theme from the Big Country” going home, and why it metamorphosed into "Celebrate the Bullet" by Selector half way home.

A kid shouted at me "Mr. you've dropped a piece of paper from your bag". Clearly a little joke designed to make me stop and fumble. I cycled on thinking I might stop and fumble round the next bend, where they couldn't see me and snigger. Then, seeing some other urchins further on made me postpone the stopping and fumbling until I'd well and truly forgotten the purpose of said stopping and fumbling exercise. Keep on keeping on!

Time out: 1.02
Time return: 1.10 (via Flappit)

Wednesday 14th March

Similar weather to yesterday, but the sun lost the game today. Should have put Polaris head warmer on, but didn't.

Going up "Mr Big", I saw a bird of prey which looked slightly larger than a Kestrel. Not buzzard size, mind you, nor hovering like a kestrel. It alighted on a pole half-way up the hill, and waited for me to approach. Then just as I thought I might get a good look, it was off, veering in a big circle off to my right, and behind me. Naturally I had to stop to watch it go. Bit of a struggle getting started on the steep bit again.

I have decided rightly or wrongly that it was a Peregrine Falcon.
Not to be confused with Mr. Spock's ears, which are Neoprene Vulcan.
Or maybe it was a vulture waiting for me to provide its luncheon.

(I need one more contrived rhyme to make this into a McGonagall poem, or rap as they're called nowadays).

Maybe I'm imagining it, but these past few mornings it always seems to be Rapunzel 2 who turns up when I go to shower. Perhaps I've offended Rapunzel somehow? Something I said? Some lack of politeness? Rapunzel 2 seems a little curt in her pronouncements too. "Pleathe thelect your floor." indeed. Maybe the one-dimensional existence is getting to the two of 'em?.

Tune for today: Babooshka by Kate Bush.

Time out: 1.01

Left work a little later than usual and tried to make up time by putting some extra effort in. Was passed by a faster fitter cyclist. Tried to catch him. Bad move! I completely blew, with a bad case of the 'Bonk'. Beware the Bonk, for 'tis a 3-'eaded beast: Dizzy in the head, legs like lead, feel half-dead.
Had a stop for an energy bar and drink, and made a cautious re-start. Not sure if the theme tune from Dallas helped, but that's what was rolling round my head.

Time Return: Do I look bovvered? You're not bovvered, I'm not bovvered. We're NOT BOVVERED!

Dad's next week

Monday 5th March

Looking for Cur-loos

Yesterday went up to see daughter Georgina in Lancaster as part of Jacky's birthday celebrations. As we left Oxenhope, a curlew flew overhead. First one we've seen this year.

Weather foul, but we took the opportunity to drive up to Arnside for pub lunch, then sussed out possible LEJoG routes in the Windermere direction. The book I bought (Land’s End to John O’Groats the Great British Bike Adventure - Phil Horsley) suggests getting the ferry across from Bowness-on-Windermere to Far Sawrey. Well, the A5074 looks rather uppy-downy, so I wonder if there's an easier way. Since nothing is booked yet, I think I need to take a closer look at the route in detail. There are loads of blue signs for cycleways, but maybe they're just good for country-lane-pootling?

Going to work, icy Blast as I leave the house, but many birds singing.

While on the "Big Hill" it becomes apparent yesterday's sighting was no flash in the pan; the curlews are definitely back. Yippee! But a shower of cold rain starts up, gradually turning to sleet and snow as more contours are crossed.
It's the icy-needle acupuncture treatment on my cheekbones. Pass me my Sou'wester and a Fisherman's Friend, dear boy. It's absolutely perishing on the tops, and to add insult to injury, as I have set off a little late this morning,
there are more cars passing. (Up to maybe 20 of ‘em. Too much, man!)

On top of all that, I don't feel 100%, so a most unpleasant journey.

Coming back, it was obvious that this morning's headwind had become a tailwind - nice. Still, plugging away at 7 mph up the last hill on the A629, it's a bit ignominious to be overtaken by an empty crisp packet doing at least 10mph more than me.

Time out. 1:11 (not bad, considering)
Return. 0:56

(N.B. Bike computer re-set today)

Tuesday 6th March

Ooh, that Smarts!

Like yesterday, I get buffeted as I leave the village, and like yesterday, I get rained on as I go up "T'Big Hill". But there's a silver lining, because yesterday's clip on the cheekbone with a frozen brillo pad has become today's
slap round the ribs with a damp towel. The wind has come around a bit and it's a strong side-sometimes-tail one.

Coming down off the moors at speed, I ponder who would come off worse if that Smart car on the left decided to pull out on me. In the blue corner, Carrera Subway 8 and rider weighing in at 12 stone 40 lbs, and in the red corner Smart car and driver, weighing slghtly less.

That reminds me of the time I did a somersault coming off the bike after hitting a child who stepped off the pavement without looking. By some miracle I landed on my feet, and the little girl was not too badly hurt. (She'd have been killed if I'd been driving a car.) That was a long time ago, and I wouldn't want to repeat the exercise.

Where are Smart Cars in the highways food chain? Just above the Sinclair C5, I should say. Wait a minute – why am I bitching about Smart Cars? They’re the good guys – small is beautiful! And in a parallel universe, everybody might be driving round in Sinclair C5s. Wow, Sci-Fi!

Current iPod playlist (stuck on repeat) "Read My Mind" by the Killers.

Time out. 1:01
Return. 1:07 (slight detour)

In the evening, continued to re-plan the Lancaster northward leg of the LEJoG. Think we may go up to Tebay, and then Orton, and then over the hill into the Eden Valley skirting Appleby-in-Westmorland (how's that for a beautiful placename?) towards a campsite slightly further North.

Wednesday 7th March

Sheldon Brown, texture like sun.

Weather better than yesterday. Cool, breeze, slightly behind me. Do penance up the big-a-misty hill (She's a hard mistress) at a steady 2.6 mph.

Sheldon Brown - heroic figure - comes to mind out of nowhere. Passionate about bikes, and proud to be different. Just think; in the days before the internet, we might never even have heard of him! Just wish he would spell derailleur correctly - but he's on a somewhat humorous campaign to anglicise (well Americanise actually) the spelling to derailer. (The cheeky scamp). Check out www.sheldonbrown.com - he's the guru.

Now for the (heard) bird scores
Woodpeckers 1 - Curlews 22.
Pipits 2 - Wagtails 2
Geese A GAGGLE - Ducks NIL (quack, quaaack!)

Time out. 0:57
Return. 1:10 (via Flappit pub, but sadly only the exterior)
Average speed over last 2 days 10.1 mph.
Fuel economy 7 miles per energy bar. (Actually I made that bit up).

Sunday 11th March 2007 - Our first training ride!

Well it wasn't so much as a training ride, more just me (Georgina) getting back on a real bike for the first time in far too long! However it was definitely not a case of starting easy and working up! It was far too much up in general! Anyway we managed to cycle 22 miles in just over two hours which is pretty good going and at one point (yes downhill!) we managed to get up to 28mph! So over all not bad! The weather was great, dry and quite sunny however there was a sting in the tail in the form of a very strong wind!

For some silly reason we managed to pick pretty much the hilliest route possible (which isn't hard living where we do)! This consisted of going form Oxenhope to Keighley and then out to Cowling before heading up to the "salt and pepper pots". After quite a hard uphill I asked Dad where the road came out in the end and from his response I could tell he hadn't quite thought this through as it comes out in a very hilly place! (Down to the Turkey pub, back up to Oakworth then down Providence and up Mytholmes and Sun Street for you locals!)

I won't bore you with all the details but overall it was a good trip apart from the head winds and very achy bum! (I have ruled that saddle off the list!)

I'm sure you will get to hear Dad's version of events before too long!

another weeks report!

Wed 28th February

Used the car today, which was a good move, since the weather was atrocious in the afternoon

Monthly Retrospective
Best Time
out 0:50 mins. back 0:54 mins. "Ahh, but surely it's best round trip time that counts?" I hear you say.

Cumulative average speed
8.7 mph (that's depressing)

Max Speed
40.1 mph (blimey!)

Favourite Energy bar (so far).
The Kelloggs Optivita was quite nice. In-depth review notes may follow, depending on how nerdy I feel.

Worst incident
White Van man started to come out from junction on left then anchored on when he saw me, literally 3-4 yards away.
No impact, but could have been a Pete-shaped dent in the side of his van. A bit unsettling.
I gave him a look that was intended to be "withering", but was probably more like "man sucking a pickled onion"

Weight lost since New Year's Day: a mere 2 lbs

Do I feel fitter? Nope.

Tuesday 27th Feb.
Despite bad weather forecast, determined to stick to training regime.

When I leave the house, it's raining, but where's the wind that was forecast? Neighbour offers me a lift to work. Very kind, but that would hardly help with getting fit.

I find out where the wind is when I get up the big hill. It's on the tops and "in yer face".

Rain gets steadily worse. My "Mind's-iPod" auto-selects "Wuthering Heights" by Kate Bush (out on the wild and windy moors...) Battle on through the rain, and it gets even worse. "Wrath of the Rain" by Horslips is now playing.

Not only is it in yer face, it's cold rain. Nothing like an Ice Cold Shower in the morning to wake you up? Well this is shutting me down.

It gets worse. Soon I'll be singing "High Water Blues" by Bob Dylan (or Charley Patton, if I knew how his version went)

No birdsong in evidence, nothing but the rain and the wind.

Then coming down off the tops into the needle-stinging wet stuff, a little lamb sheltering against a stone gate-post bleats at me as I go past. Keep going - if you stop you could die out here. But, if you don't stop the lamb might die. How are you going to live with yourself at work today - or for the rest of your life, if you don't do something about this "pure wee mite"?

After a quarter of a mile of soul searching, turn round, cycle back up the hill,
and sure enough it's still there, bleating at me. I pick it up and cradle it against my yellow Altura jacket. It's warm, it's breathing and so am I.

Look over wall: here's a ewe looking back at the two of us, making motherly noises. Trouble is she's already got one (maybe she’s had twins). Nevertheless, I figure the lamb will be better off that side of the wall than this, and gently lower it over the gate.

Occupants of field seem slightly happier (cold and rain notwithstanding),
so I get on my cycle and continue my journey. Lamb can't have been more than one week old. Yes, (Scottish pun alert!!), one "wee-cold" lamb.

It gets colder and rainier - but there's a little warm glow inside (Poetic licence). Actually I'm just happy to get to work with all my extremities intact, though when the feeling starts to come back to the thumbs, they sting like mad.

Wring everything out, have a long shower to warm up, during which I suppress the thought that the lamb will end up on someone's plate anyway, and go desk.

Time in (sorry, I refuse to divulge 'cos it's too depressing).

Polaris-fleecy-ear-warmer-thingy has been re-instated this week (folly to even think of doffing it).

Mon 26th Feb

Monday morning and I couldn't face the "Big Hill". Oxenhope is at the head of the valley, so only one way out of the village doesn't involve a climb.
That way leads to Keighley, and we don't want to go there. Not today, anyway.

So the alternative to the "Big Hill" is the "Big Hillock". This goes past the Dog and Gun, which cyclesport afficiandos will recognise as a severe climb in days gone by on the Milk Race.

So it's not that easy (but then again, I haven't just cycled 90 miles as the professionals would probably have done when they tackled it).

Apart from the fact that it's not that much less hilly than my usual route, there are two other reasons for not going this way every day.
1) the embarrassment factor of being passed by my son Matthew and his mates in the car on his way to school (since I don't need the car, he has use of it).
2) the traffic. It takes the sense of fun and freedom away being passed by all those vehicles.
Of course I can play "I eye with my Zefal Spy, something beginning with J". "Juggernaut!" "Correct!"

Yes, it's a good test for the rear view mirror. Since he arrived, my little Spy has had a brief period of undercover work hanging from my handlebar grip. (I wasn't prepared to let him stick his neck out on the bar ends). Unfortunately his transmissions were regularly being intercepted by codename "Glove" who has since been exposed as a double agent.

His cover blown, Zefal has since been recalled to the safety of the English village of Middleton Crossbar. From there, he enjoys an almost uninterrupted view. All I need now is for someone to invent the perspex seat pillar and for glass thighs to become available on the NHS and "Johhny Nash is your uncle" so to speak.

This morning's head-music "This boy has broke down" by the Corrs (or possibly Phil Lynott).

Time in (not normal route, plus following wind) 0:50mins. Can't be bad.

Time back 1:01 not bad either.

An update!

We have now been offered a grant of £500 by Yorkshire Forward which we will receive when the trip is complete! I have also been sponsored £100 by the Greaves Hotel in Lancaster so we are now over halfway there! Yipee!