Wednesday 29 August 2012

Due South

It would be an exaggeration to say we slept. We lapsed into unconsciousness for an all too brief period in a stuffy room with a distinct odour of wet labrador. We regained consciousness with fuzzy heads and an urgent need for caffeine. Clambering up and down several flights of stairs with aching thighs was worth the effort and we encountered real human beings at last. Luckily none of them complained about the arrival of 2 muddy bicycles in the middle of the night so I guess we got away with that one. We wondered about the very young couple breakfasting with us and concluded that they had to be runaways...
Suitably refuelled we discussed the plan for the day and had both concluded that option 2 for this day would be both wise and more enjoyable. We needed things to go rather more smoothly and to be less physically challenging. So having packed up our nearly dry clothes we headed downstairs and started to negotiate our exodus from the narrow hall and 2 doors to outside. I took my bike out first. Lesley followed with a couple of bags. The internal door slammed shut. Our key was back in the room and Lesley's bike and half our luggage were locked inside. As before, no real human was answering either the doorbell or 'phone. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The adjacent shopkeeper had no clues as to how we could get back in and we were reaching the tipping point where despair seemed appropriate when out of the blue the manageress appeared. Without batting an eyelid at our despoiling of her hallway with our road worn bikes she let us back in and helped us depart with all the right stuff in the right place this time. Perhaps we were destined to continue as we had started....
Gleefully I posted our first maps back home then we headed for Greenwich Park . In daylight it was surprisingly near.We did a few classic touristy things like straddling the Meridien and photographing ourselves with tout Londres behind us. We marvelled at the speed with which the Olympic stands and arena were appearing . So exciting to think that the whole world will be looking at London very soon. But that's the next adventure. Today's mission was Route 4 to the Tate Modern and London Bridge.
We found the route easily and discovered it to be a total joy - clearly marked and an interesting and diverse tour along small streets, the Thames Path and through secret parks like the Russia Docks Woodland Area....
Onwards to our cultural reward for all the hard slog of yesterday.Lesley was determined to see the Damien Hirst exhibition. It was certainly a welcome diversion but we each went into it with differing amicably opposed viewpoints. I think he is a very clever man who has manipulated the art market to his great advantage. The retrospective exhibition did not alter my views and I am still witholding my subscription to the fanclub.
Time was ticking on so a quick pedal around the corner to Borough Market and a snatch and grab excursion for a picnic lunch. So many delicious things to choose from especially the veg patties with spinach , nuts  and all 5 a day bases covered. At London bridge Station, after dropping my post prandial coffee all over the concourse , we hopped onto a Southern Train with easily located bike rack and headed South for Crowborough.
As soon as we emerged from the station -after negotiating the quaint Railway Children style wooden footbridge- we knew we were in the Downs. The first step was Castle Hill and the contour lines on the map did not lie. Which is more than can be said for "Downs" because I am sure there were more "Ups"....
We soon hooked up with Route 21 and once again delighted in it's clarity. Our faith was slightly shaken when slavishly following the signs suggested we should follow a steep dog walking path through a horse field and a boggy wood but a lone cyclist coming in the opposite direction confirmed we should not stray from the marked route. A couple of miles later we emerged from the woods, through a farmyard on to a track very reminiscent of my own home run. We blessed our hard shell tyres and in bright sunshine and brisk wind continued onwards and upwards until we found tarmac. In a short space of time we also found the "Cuckoo Trail" - a clearly marked , smoothly tarmaced former railway line. Bliss. And it was better than flat ie it inclined very slightly downhill.
We had a delightfully easy cruise until we found the village for our requisite cup of tea stop. On parking and locking our bikes we were chuffed to be able to offer trackside assistance to a teenage lad with a flat tyre. As our timing was a bit off kilter we discovered that the renowned tea stop was shut but the village pub was open. The landlord was a genial fellow who was sorely disappointed in our staid choice of beverages. He was intrigued by our expedition and couldn't wait to offer advice on our onward route. His physique suggested that he was probably not a cyclist and this was confirmed by his suggestion that our best route to East Dean was to cycle along the hard shoulder of the lovely straight A Road....
When it became clear to him that time trialling was really not our style he did offer sound advice about when and where to leave the Cuckoo Trail to optimise our chances of arriving in daylight for a change.
We did as he suggested and found the route easily. We also found more wind and more hills. Tired legs and heavy bikes made for a gruelling final push to the coast. I'm sure Grace Jones must have done a cycle touring holiday before displaying her hula hooping thighs for the Jubilee celebrations. My delight at reaching the apex of the final hill was tempered by my sensing of a double decker bus right on my tail. My descent down the 1:10 rain wet other side was executed as cautiously as possible. There was no hard shoulder just a solid stone wall. My heart remained in an anatomically incorrect position the whole way and all I could hear was the hissing of the air brakes every time the bus got too close for its comfort.
Thankfully the beautiful and very welcoming Tiger Inn was just around the corner. With shaky legs we parked the bikes under cover and congratulated ourselves on seeing our surroundings before sunset. We had time for a little walk, a call home on the payphone ( no mobile reception so a definite hideaway to return to), a comforting shower and clothes wash before installing ourselves in the dining room for a delicious supper. We took advice on our route to the ferry and after discovering that it would involve  at least 10 miles of hills opted for a taxi ride even though it required a certain amount of bike dismantling. Our hosts were fantastically helpful and arranged both the taxi and an early hearty breakfast.
I slept like the densest log in the most foresty forest ever, relieved at the thought of no more English hills...





Tuesday 3 July 2012

Day 2


L’Etape des Dames

Deuxieme Journee

London or Bust



The trouble with saying or thinking things like “it can’t get any worse” is that the elements will often do their damnedest to prove you wrong…

After a perfect breakfast of soul fortifying porridge and a damp tour of Judy’s beautiful Garden’s Illustrated cottage garden we set off in good spirits despite the grey sky and determined drizzle. The first challenge was the hill up and out of Judy’s secluded valley so we gave ourselves a good run up, rapidly switched to high gear and pedalled like mad waving a fond farewell. We were determined to leave in style if nothing else.

I hadn’t told Lesley but the forecast I had seen before we left Norfolk was stressing the potential for high winds on this day and the way the trees were moving around us led me to believe that, sadly, the forecast was likely to turn out to be accurate.

That part of rural Essex is very hilly – particularly if of one sticks to the back roads so the first hour at least consisted of many struggles up short sharp hills followed by all too brief descents.

We were aware of the wind but had to focus quite carefully on where we were going and avoiding being hit boy wide boy van drivers and yummy mummy 4x4 pilots on roads that were just wide enough for a car but vehicle + bicycle was a squeeze and those with 4 wheels were not going to give any quarter.

We were soon in that tricky bit of countryside which we encounter on every ride – namely the bit that is on the edge of 4 maps and not covered properly by any of them. We were relying on our own maps plus a couple of photocopied sections of Judy’s maps. By this time both wind and rain were very persistent so stopping to peruse any sort of map was not easy. Anyway excuses, excuses – we ended up making a fairly minor error in that the road we missed was small but the consequence was we set off for some distance on a major road going the wrong way with lorries bearing down on us with frightening regularity. Of course we then had to retrace our steps with the same traffic issues. How I did not end up sitting on the bonnet of one up close and personal Mercedes is a minor miracle. Once we had both made it safely to the relative oasis of a minor road we re-checked the map and were somewhat disheartened to note that if we made it to our intended coffee stop by lunch time we would be doing very well.

After re-fuelling with gloop and cereal bars we ploughed on just concentrating on the immediate next few miles and trying to ensure we stayed on track. In the meantime the threatened storm was whirling itself into gear. The wind – estimated on the forecast to be 40mph-was from the South West – i.e. our direction of travel – and the rain , although more sporadic than the previous day, did its best to ensure we were as drenched as possible as often as possible.

Eventually we limped into Great Leighs at 1.30 pm instead of 11 am and after enquiring of a friendly dog walker ended up in the village pub which claimed to be the oldest inn in the country and, therefore, one of its most haunted. The landlady was very welcoming and overlooked our dripping dishevelment.  I forewent the customary soup in favour of the more carb heavy jacket potato and beans and was even desperate enough to not demur at instant coffee. We took local advice and after the third story of a near miss in a car on the nearby potential short cut giving A road opted for the longer but quieter route. So once again and all too soon we headed off into the by now howling gale and horizontal rain with the good wishes of the other customers ringing in our ears.  One of the bizarre facts of the day as disclosed by the landlady was that one of those wellwishers Suzie Quattro’s daughter.

The next major landmark was Harlow – due west across the rest of Essex- where we intended to pick up route 1 and head off down the Lea Valley to London just like that.

This part of the journey was flatter but much more exposed. I swear there were moments when we were going backwards. We even had to rescue a mole from the roadside who had been flooded out of his run. Our spirits definitely revived when we hit Old Harlow without further mistakes and we were certain that the navigation would be simple from this point on as all we had to do was follow the Route 1 signs and like Dick Whittington we would arrive in London and find gold paved streets. (Perhaps I didn’t read that story properly?) All was going swimmingly until our internal compasses smelt a rat (probably another drowned one). We felt certain we were being directed in a circle and our map reading and close questioning of a passing dog walker confirmed our suspicions. So we were back to making it up as we went along….On that basis we just chose the nearest route to the Lea and  headed rapidly downhill with the fervent hope that no backtracking would be required.

On locating the river rather later than we had envisaged earlier in the day we decided that a regroup over hot tea and snacks in the nearby pub was required before our expected straight sail to the big smoke. 

As we set off it wasn’t raining – that was a first! The beginning of the route was great in terms of scenery and flatness. What was not so great was the fact that it was already 6pm not 2pm and the southerly gale was being funnelled very effectively by the geography of the valley. Again there were moments of no forwards motion but with dark approaching we had to dig deep and press on come what may. We were very buoyed by passing ecologically beneath the M25 at about 8pm but daunted by how far we still had to go. We had comforted ourselves with the thought that at least the navigation would be easy but then the Route 1 signs became very confusing – tempting us to leave the river and head into the wilds of North East London. We had to stop frequently to check signs and maps and with increasing frequency accost fellow cyclists on the route. The latter were uniformly amazed by our mission but were also uniformly gracious, kind and helpful. Our instinct consistently chimed with the advice – basically stick to the Lea until you hit the Thames.

So we did with the light fading and an ever narrowing path and random bridges and steps. Great to explore but not on this day.

Eventually we hit the mighty Thames to once again be met with a dearth of signs. Again we were rescued by kindly locals and before too long at 10.30 pm found ourselves in the middle of Canary Wharf with the Thames Path blocked by building works. The only way was down to Westferry Circus which is all very well but when down means steps and your energy levels are sub zero the end result is Crash, Bang – whoops there went fully laden bike – narrowly missing an ascending party of tourists. I resisted the temptation to sit down and cry as we were so very nearly there weren’t we? More Aaagh moments as we traversed Millwall and the glamorous Mudchute area. At last Island Gardens and the entrance to the Greenwich Foot Tunnel came into view.


We were probably slightly delirious with exhaustion and hunger by this point but it did seem that we were in an outpost of Hogwarts. For those who have never been there – the entrance to the tunnel is a beautiful curved Victorian red brick gem with an interior lined with slightly lavatorial white glazed tiles. On turning the corner one is confronted by a brand spanking new 22nd century all glass lift which opened as if by wand wave as soon as we approached. A very genial fellow cyclist emerged from South of the Thames and proceeded to point out the numerous “NO CYCLING “ signs and gave us grave warnings about the crocodile. Having placated said beast with cereal bars and wasabi peas we arrived  gracefully in Greenwich by dint of another futuristic lift  to be met with the frankly rather hallucinogenic sight of the newly restored Cutty Sark illuminated in all her glory just for us.


We had made it (nearly ) . Now all we needed was food, showers and bed. We chose to sort number one before addressing numbers 2 and 3.By now it was 10.30pm. We looked at each other and realised that we were wearing the history of our journey thus far. Not only were we sweat soaked and all over bedraggled but we were so splatted with Thames and Lea Path mud and other detritus that we looked as if we had just escaped from the chain gang in deepest Texas.

Our one hope for food turned out to be the Mexican cafĂ© frequented by Luc and his student chums because it is open late and is not pricey. I left Lesley in charge of locking the bikes to the nearest fixture and prepared myself to grovel. As with every other human encounter that day the staff were welcoming, kind and gracious. We were rapidly ushered to a table – admittedly in the furthest corner behind a pot plant –and offered menus and drinks. I needed red wine in large quantities as well as lashings of usually off my radar tortilla chips. Both arrived in a twinkling and we were at last able to reassure the folks in Norfolk that we had made it thus far.( Earlier we had decided that stopping to answer calls under dimly lit underpasses in the East End would not have been a good call.)


Now all we had to do was find the B and B and collapse. We had made increasingly frantic attempts to contact the establishment throughout the day to warn them that we were running (extremely) late. Each time the call was put straight through to voicemail so we had absolutely no confidence that we would be able to get into the place even if we could find it. Luckily the red wine dissipated some of the trepidation and the fact that it was very dark and quite late didn’t seem to matter too much. Our lights were as effective as depressed fireflies so navigation was not too slick particularly as we were relying on a rain smudged photocopy of the relevant page of the A to Z. After reaching parts of Greenwich and Maze Hill that I had certainly never reached before, an hour later, we finally found our destination – 162. Our hearts sank when to all outward appearances it looked like no-one was home. In all our ‘phone messages we had asked how to get in after hours but received no reply. We were about to call again but decided we may as well give the door a shove and see what happened. Phew – Open Sesame. When in doubt brute force and ignorance can sometimes work wonders.

Lesley wrestled with the automated check-in system and finally we were inside with a hot shower and a warm bed in closer view than they had been all day. We checked the room number and due to extreme fatigue were thoroughly amused to note that we had been given a first floor room despite telling the owners from the outset that we were travelling by bike. Of course, trying to be thoroughly amused but quiet at 1am in the very narrow hallway of  a strange B and B is a recipe for near hysteria….

By this time my legs were unable to support my weight so I leaned back on the wall behind me      -   which gently gave way and I ended up nearly replicating the infamous Del Boy leaning on the non – existent bar hatch scene. Forget the near hysteria – full blown stomach aching , knee collapsing , rolling on the floor laughter ensued ( but all as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the other guests of course).

It took a very long time to recover sufficiently to realise that the ground floor room was unoccupied and likely to remain so. A perfect bike shed! Having tucked the trusty bikes into their beds we headed to ours via the customary showering of ourselves and our clothes.  The owners had provided heat so that we could dry our clothes which was great but our ability to dissipate it with fresh air was hampered by the uncustomary ( for us country folk) London noises outside.

We both agreed that it had been an EPIC day and hoped fervently that we would not have to dig quite so deep again during the rest of the trip…

So 90 miles, full  winter style kit, full on head wind and monsoon rain and god knows how long in the saddle. I think epic is not too far from the truth.

Another bizarre fact – the room we occupied cost less than £100 that night. During the Olympics the cost for the same room will be £700 per night and it is fully booked!

Tuesday 26 June 2012

Premiere Journee - Off we go!

The couple of days immediately preceding our departure were a blur of list writing, shopping, packing, unpacking , re-packing and general panicking. Up close our little idea looked preposterous and downright scary. The terror factor increased exponentially with each weather forecast I listened to or watched. The gods of wind and rain were clearly not going to be on our side and my dream of travelling light in and with summer gear only were swiftly swallowed by the nearest storm drain.
Despite making the night of 6th June last as long as possible by waking up every 5 minutes I still could not believe it when Thursday 7th June actually dawned and I still had not thought of an urgent and immediate need to be somewhere else....Even when Lesley and her family arrived at the appointed hour I was still in denial - particularly as my bike had only emerged from the pits 5 minutes before after the last second discovery of a faulty valve...


Our neighbours very sweetly set up a start line so  with many good wishes ringing in our ears we set off down our bumpy track with most members of our family in convoy behind. All except Lesley's sister and her partner stopped at the end of the track and headed home ( perhaps they were the wise ones? )The weather was hot and humid as we pedalled down familiar roads towards the lovely pub in Woolpit with Scottish smoked salmon firmly in our sights.I began to doubt the wisdom of packing my full winter survival kit.The lunch was suitably scrummy and the landlord's eyes were out on stalks when I replied truthfully to his question about our ultimate destination. The beginning was a slightly phony war in that Shaun had hatched a plan to meet us in Woolpit with most of the children and our panniers so that we could do a final goodbye.
That part of the plan all worked to a tee. However, as we were loading up properly in the pub car park , we felt the first splodges of rain on our helmets and tried to ignore them amidst the emotional goodbyes. We also failed to understand the message from the 2 ducks sitting on a nearby roof. It felt great to be on the road proper - just us and our kit off on the long planned adventure.
Before we had gone a mile , the rain became steady and by the time we were well into mid Suffolk it was a monsoon. We had followed much of this route on our jaunt to Long Melford and had joked about the hail on that trip...It's all about perspective I guess..By the time we hit Lavenham for a much needed wee stop I was literally soaked to the skin. I may as well have stood under a waterfall for the afternoon. The ladies in the Guildhall Gift shop were very understanding and excused our sloshing arrival and departure with good grace.


After Lavenham we hit previously uncharted territory - especially a housing estate in Sudbury which we tackled initially at first floor level then exclusively on "No Cycling " paths. At least the miserable weather meant that everyone was tucked and warm inside their houses not out spotting errant cyclists..


Sudbury meant crossing the Stour into Essex - the third county of the day. I had planned a gentle cycle along the side of the river where I grew up reminiscing about the enormous fish I used to catch at Henny but sadly we were so wet , cold and miserable all we could do was put our heads down and keep pedalling as best we could. It crossed my mind as we aquaplaned through innumerable puddles/shallow lakes that my new tyres were quite roadie in profile and I wasn't entirely sure of their grip in the wet particularly when fully laden.
The last push up out of the valley was a struggle particularly as the roads resembled Italian mountain tracks in places - their surfaces eroded by torrents of rain and cohorts of Porsche Cayennes. My chain tried to surrender on the last uphill and popped off but due entirely to Lesley's technical abilities was rapidly back in place and we coasted down to my friend Judy's beautiful and immaculate cottage.
I knew that our total drowned rat appearance would not coordinate well with cream carpets and fabulous artwork so we hesitated on the doorstep before knocking very timidly. Judy's welcome was wholeheartedly gracious and very warm . We were immediately ushered to piping hot showers, cockle warming tea and a delectable supper. Our clothing met a similarly warm welcome in the tumble dryer. I was pleased that my double plastic bag wrapping of everything including my novel and my hot water bottle had worked so that I had something dry to wear after the shower and in bed. After thorough route planning for the day ahead which took heed of Judy's local knowledge  and filled in the missing map corner we collapsed into our cosy , electric blanket heated beds with the comforting thought that it couldn't get worse than that ....

Wednesday 6 June 2012

L'Etape des Dames

It's nearly time for the start. I have spent the most of my waking hours over the past few days asking myself how June arrived so quickly and how exactly did we end up dreaming up this madcap scheme in the first place?
I have packed and unpacked my panniers so many times and tried to convince myself that after circumnavigating Norfolk with just a bumbag I can really survive 6 days on the bike with 1 change of clothes and SHOCK HORROR! no beauty case.....I suppose there is still time to dash out and buy a little trailer?
I cycled to Aldeburgh on Monday with my best guess of full France kit. It was heavy and I unintentionally chose the hilliest part of Suffolk to traverse. Down was fine - except when the peacock got in my way - but up was a challenge. I have to fess up to walking up a couple of stretches. There - just blown the iron woman image in one fell swoop.
Anyone reading this please send positive weather vibes. I may try and update once we are in La Belle France but various important parts of me may have ceased to function by then like brain , hands etc..

Tuesday 29 May 2012

Norfolk 100

What is it about 100 that seems so much bigger than 98? Whenever I was asked about the impending Norfolk 100 I freely admitted to feeling completely daunted by the 3 digit nature of the challenge. From the perspective of a total amateur on a touring bike that number of miles in a day feels like the very outer edge of sanity....Quite a lot of our lovely friends and supporters clearly felt the same as their most common reaction when reminded of the forthcoming challenge was to exclaim " you are definitely mad/ bonkers/ insane " etc.
Of course in between our wintry ride from Ely and Sunday 27th May summer arrived at full throttle. We don't often do temperate in this country anymore - it's either frozen feet for 66 miles or so hot and humid that you have to replace your entire body's fluid every 10 miles ..
It was an absolutely beautiful day. Bright blue sky and not a single cloud in sight. There was a great atmosphere at the start - very festive . We set off just before 7.30am as planned and joined the "mighty peloton" as we were described by the commentator at the start. Without being too cheesey it actually was a fine sight to see the streets of our fine city dominated by so many determined cyclists.
We made a good start and managed to negotiate both leaving the city and its light morning traffic and the surrounding clumps of club riders with calm. Our friend Simon who is a proper cyclist on a proper bike even managed to stay with us for 10 miles or so before shooting off in hare like fashion at the first proper incline. early morning caffeine hits meant that the first comfort stop after 25 miles or so was very welcome. By this time I realised that I would have to alter my usual regime of a sip of water every hour and possibly a cereal bar after 50 miles quite substantially. Before even reaching that first stop I had taken on more fluid than I normally do in 10 rides and demolished both power gel and said cereal bar! Yep it was hot already. As this was only the second time since last October that I had set off on a ride in just short sleeves it was clear that our lack of opportunity to train in anything other than sub zero temperatures could become an issue.

We carried on North towards the coast and couldn't resist a squeak when we first spotted the sea on the horizon just before Morston. It was blue and sparkling - a very rare sight in Norfolk and the whole coastline looked postcard worthy gorgeous. This is when it got "bumpy". No Noel, Norfolk is not flat and this bit of coastline does its utmost to prove a point. The compulsory half way half hour  stop at Sheringham was not resented . It was a welcome chance to douse ourselves in cold water and refuel. The volunteers manning the post were all charming and dealt with us rather bemused and sunstruck cyclists with efficiency and good humour.
I was delighted when a chap who had done the same ride last year exclaimed in the food queue that " It's all downhill from here". He lied . Not a whopper of a lie but there were still a few undulations to conquer and my slightly stiffened legs were not delighted to encounter them.  We also had seaside traffic to contend with through resorts such as Cromer and Mundesley. The challenge of dodging cars, fellow riders and ice cream wielding toddlers kept all our senses on full alert. It was good to hold on to the thought that each mile now was taking us nearer to the finish but the cooling sea breeze did seem to elongate that stretch of coast down to Horsey where we had decided to make the final stop.
The long flat stretch from Sea Palling to Horsey had definitely grown since I last visited it ( admittedly in a car) but at last the Mill really was around the next corner and we were greeted by my enthusiastic family and a fine picnic. We could not do proper justice to the food as we both get indigestion if we consume too much during a ride but the support and lemonade were tremendously welcome .
Spirits lifted once more we headed inland narrowly escaping a nasty encounter with a car after a cavalier "yes " from a steward when asked if it was clear . We rapidly realised that the heat was very intense away from the sea breeze and did our best to steer clear of the melted tarmac. This last part went by in a flash and a wee bit sooner than we expected we were heading through the Erpingham Gate back into the Cathedral Close. Again the atmosphere was fantastic and we joined hordes of equally jubilant and exhausted cyclists clutching medals and free drinks courtesy of Adnams.
Well we did it and on a touring bike and a mountain bike respectively. In the sleepless pre dawn hours of Saturday night it looked like a task fit for Hercules - not me. I am still struggling to get my head around it.
Another achievement for the day which I will not allow my family to forget is that I travelled 100 miles under my own steam with bare minimum luggage - i.e. 1 bum bag and 1 under saddle bag containing my repair kit.
A big thank you to all those who sponsored us. It certainly helped to encourage us to see it through.
So onwards to the next challenge - Le Mans. The packing pile is looking too big already and there is no guarantee of clement weather....But we will be on holiday so the pressure will be off.


Friday 25 May 2012

Animate Objects in our Path

Maybe one day we will stop having our "good ideas" but maybe at that point life would be become a little boring .....
The good idea for Sunday 20th May was to combine a viewing for an agricultural machinery sale near Ely with a full luggage practise ride for France . Logistics were as complex as ever - starting with a pre - sparrow fart departure with tractor and trailer for Shaun. (He sends his apologies to all those caught in the 10 mile traffic queue on the A14). The mid morning saw Lesley and I driving our intended bike route in reverse in the bus. This involved Lesley driving and me screeching very last second instructions based on my blurry vision ( glasses at home ) of a biggish scale map. Apologies to alarmed pheasants and partridges.

Late morning we charm our way past security at the sale venue which we finally located in a village some distance from Ely, rescue a very frozen Shaun and head to Ely proper for warming soup (remember this was before summer decided to make her presence felt).

After insulting the looks of the resident riverside Muscovy ducks , swearing at the weight of our luggage and wondering just how far we would have to cycle before our feet defrosted we wobbled our way along the riverside path and headed for National Cycle Route 11 . We remembered to cross the river before launching ourselves South on the cycle route proper. We admired the straightness and flatness of the path and agreed that the weight wasn't so bad as long as it was balanced. We took time to pose on the throne like sculpture along the route and took care to avoid the cow pats liberally dotted along the way. About a minute later we both spotted the authors of the cow pats and simultaneously noticed the rather larger brown beast standing on the path. When Lesley exclaimed " shit it's got testicles" we knew we had a problem Houston. To our right down a steep embankment was the river . To our left down an equally vertiginous slope was a bramble filled ditch. Gates fore and aft were a long way away and we could not outrun the bull in either direction with or without luggage. Tacitly we agreed that the only way was steadily forward making neither eye contact nor alarming moves. Not so easy in a high viz bright yellow jacket but if there is only one option best to grasp it with confidence.


(The bull is on the far right!) We passed close enough to admire the skill with which his nasal piercing had been performed and to marvel at his all round bulk. Like Persephone we did our best not to look back and even though we could hear no thundering hooves the next gate could not come quickly enough. After safely reaching the other side we agreed that our hearts could not have been beating faster if we had just ascended an alpine pass.

After deep breathing exercises and customary map reading discussions we headed in to fenland proper and agreed that a good caffeine stop would be the charming looking pub 20 miles or so along the intended route. Sadly the welcome from the manager did not match the exterior charm of the premises and we vowed never to darken its doorstep again. On arrival home, I looked it up on Tripadvisor and found that we were not alone in our experience of lack of hospitality. I can live without being harangued by a man who must have been an extra in Dark Shadows in a genuine 70s brown striped shirt.....and I guess many others share that view.

The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful by comparison but definitely taxing on stamina and map reading skills. It was good to pick up parts of the Cambridge to Norwich route and reminisce about kamikaze stewards and veteran cyclists on that sultry ride last October.We felt it was very sad that in mid May we were wearing all our winter kit and saw no need to remove any layers at any point.

So 66 miles later we are glad to have completed the baggage trial but both admitted to feeling a bit daunted by what we might have taken on with both the Norfolk 100 and Le Mans. If winter persists simply carrying enough spare clothing will be a real issue for France. The charity shop challenge will be a daily necessity.

At the time of writing the 100 is 24 hours away, my bike has had an emergency service at the wonderful Borwell Cycles in Norwich, summer and a strong easterly breeze have arrived and I am s**t scared....... Watch this space.

Sunday 13 May 2012

Good hare day

If this were a Hollywood movie we would know that things have to go wrong, that set backs have to be overcome and courage mustered before a final happy resolution. I am really hoping that the last 2 weeks fit that part of our plot line and that we can now move on in a steadfast way towards our goals.
The first goal is the Norfolk 100 which I have to say is scaring me witless. My series of tumbles knocked my confidence as well as denting my arm and causing my fitness to retreat to December style levels. So for lots of reasons it has been with some trepidation that I have hauled myself back on board my beloved bike. It is so good that I have huge support and encouragement from Lesley. I think a solo me might have crawled into the bike shed and stayed there!
I managed a couple of round the blocks before last weekend then on Bank Holiday Monday with warnings of dire weather ringing in our ears , Lesley and I headed East with a view to putting miles under wheels for the first time together in a wee while. Lesley was trialling her new paniers as preparation for France and we both found that luggage and head wind combined made for a bit of a challenge. We started by aiming for Loddon via Hempnall and Seething Ling. Just North of Hempnall we had the most magical encounter with a group of mad may hares. They were clearly having a great time larking about in a maize field and were completely unaware of our presence. So much so that 2 ended up running straight down the road towards us and came almost within touching distance before swerving off back to the field. I have never seen hares face on so close up . We felt very priveleged and also slightly smug as about 2 minutes before this we had been overtaken by a serious roadie chap - head down pedalling fast- who would have missed the entire hare show. Being a tortoise has many benefits.

Our initial loss of blood sugar was swiftly remedied at Rosy Lee's in Loddon then back into the head wind to see how close to Lowestoft we could get without having to swim. More hares popped out of hedgerows to check us out. Definitely a good hare day.

 We battled on through Haddiscoe and took an executive decision based on weather and family commitments to turn back West slightly earlier trhan planned. After a scary flirtation with the A134 we found some idyllic back roads to take us above Beccles and Bungay and lead us to the very welcoming Earsham Hall tea room where mixed bean soup revived us in body and soul. The rain arrived as soon as we left for home but it was made bearable by the thought of a waiting hot shower.
We were pleased to have clocked up a good mileage but neither of us are under any illusions about the fact that 100 miles is a very long way and that trying to average 70 miles a day with luggage is going to be a test. Onwards and I hope not too much upwards.



Sunday 29 April 2012

Pride before a fall?

I put it down to hubris. Others have put it down to accidentally filling the water bottle with gin....but in any event after combining a quick round the block with a visit to the dental hygienist I had another blank, ended up on the floor and hit the poor old elbow again. Big ouch. Patched it up once more at home with the copious supplies of dressings given to me by the lovely nurse at the Doctor's surgery and thought no more of it.
Very sadly my father in law died the next day. En route to see his widow , my husband and his siblings at the Nursing Home where he had died I realised that my arm was quite sore and a bit swollen. I think as a distraction from their grief everyone asked to see the war wound and my sister in law casually said - " are you sure it's not infected?"
Obviously we all had far more important things on our minds for the rest of that day and I had to whizz to Norwich to collect my children. By the time everyone was home and settled it became clear that my arm was making a bid to outgrow my thigh and was giving off enough heat to keep a family of 4 warm all evening. All normal GP surgeries were shut by this time so my poor husband had to conclude one of the worst days of his life by driving me in to Norwich to the out of hours GP then scouring the outer suburbs for an open pharmacy. The GP was very kind and confirmed that we did the right thing to come in as I had developed cellulitis and hastily prescribed 2 kinds of horse sized antibiotics.
Tracking down the pharmacy meant dipping a toe into the world of Norwich night working . We found it a strange and discomforting place and felt like we should be starring in an American road movie. We wondered how the CCTV footage would look as we scurried back to the car with me clutching a dubious paper bag , leaping into the passenger seat as soon as the car was unlocked and hastily swallowing several pills all the time with a feverish glint in my eyes.....The contrasts and incongruities of the day's events did not escape our notice and did, at least, provide ample opportunity for dark humour.
The timing was atrocious. I needed to be operating at 150% not feeling and looking like a comedy extra in a Wallace and Gromit animation. I did some research and discovered that if not treated or unresponsive to antibiotics cellulitis can lead to septacaemia. Bit scary really. Obviously the bugs which cause it need a wound to be able to get into the system but thereafter they really love it and will multiply like mad if, inter alia, the victim's immune system is at a low ebb and/or they have poor circulation. Ho hum.
So for lots of reasons no bike time for a while. BUT elbow pads have now been purchased and the label on the gin is in very BIG WRITING indeed.

Thursday 19 April 2012

Hailstones hurt

Having managed a couple of solitary excursions during the preceding week it was good to look forward to another Sunday and another family outing on to which we managed to tag a cycle and a lift home. This time the destination was Long Melford and the Hall.
Another freezing start which is becoming something of a pattern regrettably and off we peddled due South. Luckily we benefitted from a tail wind and were beginning to feel quite confident in cruise mode when Uh -oh another pedal miscoordination moment struck and my beleagured right elbow hit the tarmac again. I resolved not to look until we reached our destination ( 35 miles or so away at that point).
So, having picked myself up, congratulated myself on still being on the right route , nature decided that 2 miles from our intended lunch stop she would test our mettle by chucking hail at us. The good thing about hail is that it is less wet than torrential rain. The bad thing is that it hurts particularly on prominent places like the end of one's nose. Another lesson learned in the field.
Woolpit was a delightful place to stop for lunch. It was exciting to think that we were in the spot where the last wild wolf in England had been slain allegedly (Wolf Pit , not Wool Pit).Having thought that a bowl of soup would suffice for us both we ended up demolishing a whale sized portion of gravadlax and 2 crab cakes between us.The hail held off all the time we were inside and reappeared whenever we were on high ( for East Anglia ) portions of the second leg. I had another of those " Is this really what I do for fun? " moments when indigestion (served me right) and hail struck at the same time. The answer is still "yes" by the way!
Long Melford in sight we were interrupted by a jubilant text from the welcome party who discovered both a good pub for lunch and a motorbike show. Definitely something for everyone when combined with the historic Hall and ridiculously cute lambs AND tea and fruit cake.
I checked the wound in the loo and I had managed to add to the previous injury in a reasonably spectacular fashion. I may even have a scar that Lesley's very gung ho son , Dougie, would be proud of.


All in all another good outing.
PS Shaun has promised to fit stabilisers to the bike and I have bought elbow pads......

Sunday 8 April 2012

Made in Essex?

We did our best to take advantage of Matt's knowledge and skill and tried to think of intelligent questions to ask about our preparation and "training" for the Norfolk 100 and for France.He agreed that our carefully worked out regime of a couple of 20 miles ish rides during the week and a longer ride of 50 to 60 miles at the weekend is about right. Phew. At least our intentions are good even if living up to them is sometimes problematic.
Bearing all this in mind when Shaun expressed an interest in visiting the Munnings Museum in Dedham it seemed like a an ideal chance to head in that direction and cadge a lift home. We reassured ourselves that we would go as far as we could and that Shaun would always pick us up if we got stuck/exhausted. Of course we are both fuelled by stubborn determination as well as cereal bars and bananas...so in our hearts we knew it was Dedham or bust!
Despite the clocks springing forwards we managed to leave pretty much on schedule. Relevant maps had been consulted and packed and a hit list of villages to pass through drawn up. Having basked in bright sunshine for several days it was disappointing to set off in chilly cloudy conditions. I was glad I opted for winter style layers including the obligatory 2 pairs of socks. Even with those precautions both of us suffered frozen feet for most of the journey.
The trip can be described in 3 sections. The first third to South of Diss was fine - we knew where we were going and cruised happily along despite the feet.
The middle part involved Stowmarket which , to be honest , was a bit grim. We hit our 30 mile customary wall , had to consult the maps more times than we like and ended up cycling the length of the High Street several times before alighting on a Costa for caffeine and croissant ( a crucial part of the France training regime). We opted out of a visit to the Wimpy. Neither of us had seen one for several decades let alone been in one.
The sun came out at last and we found ourselves in mid Suffolk proper. Our spirits sank a little as we realised that this part of East Anglia is by no means flat and our route was dominated for some time by RAF Wattisham. We had visions of being tailed by a drone as we skirted the intimidating perimeter fence- stopping several times for map consultations to ensure we didn't end up in a minefield..
The hills surrounding Hadleigh looked daunting from a distance but were fine in reality.The town is delightful and further endeared itself to us by providing a flat section of route on a disused railway track which is part of National Route 1.
Much happier now we glided down to the Stour Valley admiring the chocolate box cottages accessorised with Porsch Cayennes. We narrowly avoided heading down the A12 in the wrong direction and before we could think major East Anglian artists we were in Dedham. Despite being fed misinformation about some of the welcome party being in Flatford ( the wrong side of the river) we managed to rendez vous in the car park by Dedham Mill. Lesley and I had first done a tour of the village and ascertained that the Museum doesn't open until April. I also did my first splat with grown up pedals in another part of the car park. No one saw so it doesn't really count ?  My pedals had engaged when I hadn't asked them to , I panicked, couldn't disengage , had to choose between a soft landing on a BMW 4x4  or a less soft one on tarmac sprinkled with gravel. For insurance reasons I chose the latter and a small part of rural Essex will be forever in my elbow...
That's life and bikes and we made it ! Hooray!

Thursday 5 April 2012

The Bike Man

I met a chap at a party. No this is not going the way you think...I had "met " him previously when he sailed past me as I huffed and puffed along a section of the Cambridge to Norwich ride. Naturally we got talking about bikes and journeys and he told me I must go and see a marvellous man who will ensure that my bike and I are as compatible as Brangelina. I have to admit that I was very sceptical about this idea as I am Mrs Amateur with (shock horror) only one bike which will have to do come what may.
After many months of prevarication I was given a firm nudge in the direction of making the call by my chiropractor who once again relieved my aching back with acupuncture and by my family who are becoming tired of my stressing about whether I am up to the France trip physically.
So off I trotted with Lesley for moral support to a converted garage in a nearby village. Had to go by car given lack of daylight but it was completely in keeping with my amateur status anyway!
Matt is a total star. He helped to sort out my position within the limits of my equipment and I didn't even flinch when he took a hacksaw to my handlebars. He is following up the visit by sorting some more bits of kit and has arranged a meeting with a local retailer who can give us the best advice about lightweight essentials for our travels. I hope he found our visit a bit of light relief after an afternoon of dealing with serious cyclists whose primary concern is performance - sod the comfort. Obviously our priorities are skewed differently!
His advice has been worth every penny so far. His details are:
Matt Jackson - Advanced Cycle Science
Tel : 01508 531769 /07795 424671
Email : thefootlab@me.com
Website : www.thefootlab.co.uk

Wednesday 21 March 2012

Eddie Izzard

Eddie Izzard is a hero. Luc met him on Monday at Goldsmiths. When asked about "cake or death?" the response was "cake". In the absence of cake the answer would be biscuits. I just thought everyone should know this.
Apparantly he also talked about standing for Parliament at some point. Personally I think he should skip the democratic process and go straight for Supreme Ruler of the Universe.
I am hoping that he may need my chauffering assistance during the Olympics. Perhaps I should have put the delegation of Eddie Izzard on my preference form.....However I fear he may be too busy running 400 marathons in 2 weeks or something similar. It puts our cycling endeavours well and truly in the shade.

Tuesday 20 March 2012

Not bad for a Monday

It was another one of those great ideas. Why not do a circular ride that takes in the Reedham Ferry? After a few postponements today was fixed as the day it should happen - so eastwards we peddled admiring the scenery and wildlife as we went.
Luckily the Ferry was back in operation after its winter maintenance break and before we could say "marsh harrier" we were in the Broads proper with lots of water and not so many roads. We were therefore forced to either build a boat or head home via central Norwich in order to cross back over the Rubicon. It was a good test of our country mouse mettle as we skirted the A47 and headed in to the City on the Thorpe Road. Note to the City Council - how about lovely walking and cycling paths that could run along both banks of both rivers? At one point we had to cut across a building plot on foot in the Broadland Business Park. A stark contrast to our unhassled glide along country lanes earlier in the day.
Obviously, we lived to tell the tale - although as I do not normally cycle 60 odd miles on a Monday I fear I may rust to a standstill like the poor old Tin Man.
Whilst cycling we covered the usual breadth of topics and wrestled with the problem of how to return Lesley and her bike from France on the back of Shaun's motorbike.
An idea...But possibly not the most comfortable.

Sunday 18 March 2012

Accommodation

Having perused various maps and guidebooks we now have a hit list of attractive sounding destinations for our night time stops/ collapses. We started with the romantic notion of setting off and seeing what we find along the way but we reminded ourselves that after a long , hot day's cycle the last thing we need to have to do is search for reasonable looking accommodation. I think it will be better for morale if we can be reasonably certain that on arrival at the intended town/village we can leap(?) in to hot showers , crack open the vin rouge and put our feet up.
So having worked out which centre of civilisation we are heading for each day the quest is on for hosteleries that offer that perfect combination of comfortable , welcoming and within budget. I am easily seduced by descriptions of bijou, quaint historic buildings in central but quiet locations..I just hope I don't manage to land us in tumbldown health and safety hazards with medieval plumbing!

Sunday 11 March 2012

What a Gorgeous Day

Wow! What a perfect cycling day. We must have done something to please or appease the cycling gods for once. Our hesitantly and hastily formed plan to cycle from Wells Next the Sea to home came to fruition.
We managed to align the necessity to collect a child from a sleepover with a minor(!) diversion to the coast and blagged a lift all the way to the beach car park at Wells. Hardly daring to believe our luck with the weather we set off in a Southerly direction with joyful hearts. Any other choice of direction would have resulted in an unforeseen triathlon entry. We totally failed to find the track which was intended to join us to National Route 1 but managed to find it in Wighton. From there until just north of North Elmham we merrily followed the little blue signs with only one minor hiccup.
After Elmham we decided to go free range and head in a diagonal line towards home via Wymondham.
We had to make a few map checks but by a process of following our noses, trusting signposts and taking the odd off road diversion we actually made it all the way home. (55 miles)
It was good to get a long ride under our wheels at last but my legs are definitely telling me that I need to train with more gusto to be ready for the Norfolk 100. So smugness tempered with nervousness is the best way to describe my feelings this evening....

Monday 5 March 2012

Route Planning

February has disappeared like a snowperson in the rain - so we really feel that the talk of organisation and training has to transform itself into action.
Whilst the countryside was still covered in ice and snow we grasped the opportunity for some "proper" route planning ie looking at actual roads on actual maps and trying to see if A really can lead to B and eventually on to (Le) M. Happily the maps of France do dovetail in to each other so we had a chance of finding a coherent straightish route. Of course, we rapidly became distracted by thoughts of the Musee des Beaux Arts in Rouen, Giverney, the Percheron stud in Montagne au Perche.....The eventual route will look like a drunken spider's attempt to walk the line.
Our distance calculations are heavily reliant on bits of string and vaguely remembered school geography lessons on scale. For this reason I have a horrible feeling we may find we have been over ambitious with our targets for some of the days because we forgot to multiply the scaled up figure by our combined ages and then divide by the number we first thought of. Time will certainly tell.
"Training " has acquired more focus now that our entries for the Norfolk 100 are confirmed. Our attempts to get some miles under our belts and tyres have been frustrated by gales and horizontal rain. So much so that we had to resort to static bikes at our local gym today. Grrrrr. However, last week's Spring- like interlude meant that on the round trip to the bike shop in Diss we were shedding layers for the first time in 6 months and I was cursing my lack of sunglasses. More of the same please. We need to acclimatise to June temperatures en France.

Sunday 26 February 2012

Another windy Wednesday

22/2/12/
I would really like to know what I have done to offend the cycling gods. A very simple plan to cycle to Diss to meet Lesley for a coffee becomes a test of will and endurance. I knew it was a wee bit breezy when I set off. Our prevailing wind is South West and it as the journey progressed it decided that prevailing was not good enough. Wednesday was clearly scheduled as the day when it would conquer the Eastern counties and lay flat everything in its path. Not content with mere wind a good soaking with horizontal rain added to the general warm , fuzzy " I love cycling" vibes my body was busy transmitting to my brain.
 So a trip that normally takes 50 minutes took well over an hour and entailed a  major sense of humour loss on the way . Luckily , I bumped into (metaphorically , not literally) Felix, Diss's excellent busker and was cheered by listening to him. In the interests of testing all  aspects of the French excursion, I then found Lesley in the coffee shop and re-fueled with caffeine and croissant.
Circulation and humour revived I headed for home and , yes, payback time. Tail wind all the way. No records broken but a much happier home run in a rather more respectable time.
Pedals still fine. Again bike and I remained attached when we should have been and not when not. However, I did realise the hard way that breathable shoes are not waterproof....Duh!

23/2/12
More progress on other excursions - I have found a B and B near Sandown run by a lady called Edwina. I was a bit worried that we might be made to listen to Strictly Come Dancing tales of woe with our full english breakfasts but the surname doesn't match so I think we will be OK.

Friday 17 February 2012

A prayer to the god of tail winds

As I lay awake on Tuesday night listening to the wind hurling rain showers against the bedroom window , I thought "B....r". Of course in the absence of snow and ice nature had to conjure up something to obstruct our plans for the first decent cycle in a few weeks. One of us is made of very strong Celtic stuff so , undeterred by a relatively feeble display of English weather , we set off in a steadfast North Westerly direction. The theory being that it is better to battle a head wind on the outward leg and have the luxury of the wind on our tails as we coast towards home and a hot bath/shower.
Wash Lane does a good impression of a mountain bike course without the mountains but despite its best efforts I stay united with my bike through the spoke deep mud and wheel swallowing potholes. At each junction my internal alarm screeches "feet" at me and I disengage in a very unsmooth and unsophisticated manner then lurch forwards with awkward foot shufflings and mutterings.
As we head up Cheney's Lane and on towards Wymondham via Tacolneston and Spooner Row there are times when I swear we make no forward progress whatsoever. It is like being the stationary car in one of those telly adverts featuring a wind tunnel. All we need is John Hurt to do a voiceover about our spectacular lack of intelligent design and failure of aerdynamism at that point. The wind is SO bad that are even a few stretches of road where we fail to keep up a conversation.
We persevered via Morley and then let our lowering blood sugar and caffeine levels guide us to the Station Cafe in Wymondham for re-heating and re-fueling. After a very civilised interlude and customary map discussions we head for home via a new to us dead end road with a footbridge over the A11. This brought us out to the east of Silfield and then on to Wreningham, Toprow, Hapton, Forncett St Mary and home. (We also discovered a new dog walk venue - Long's Wood Wreningham.)
My mileometer is on the wrong setting so distance covered has to be decided by a mixture of higher maths and wishful thinking - but we reckon we managed about 30 miles.
So the verdict on the pedals - there is something both pure and slightly sinister about being a part of the bike or it being a part of me (discuss?) It certainly feels more efficient and I can understand why they are necessary for proper cyclists who wish to average 30mph during their ascent of alpine passes. I will certainly continue with my attempts to conquer my fear of them.

And amazingly -splat count zero. Beginner's luck combined with sheer terror I assure you.

Getting there

As well as thinking idle thoughts about the comic genius of Eddie Izzard we are starting to put some flesh on the bones of the Le Mans trip. We have booked a ferry crossing - so far one way only from Newhaven to Dieppe. I tried womanfully to make the booking online but ended up causing the system to need a lie down in a darkened room when I tried to explain, very patiently , that I was not imagining that 3 of us would be riding one bicycle and that I really did want to book passage for 3 people with , guess what, 3 bicycles...I ended up speaking to a very charming french lady who set everything straight and confirmed it really wasn't my fault. So counselling included in the ticket price. A bargain!

Monday 13 February 2012

ice ice baby

`11/2/12
In a fit of bravery I remove the shoes from the box and yes they still fit.  Paddi very kindly fitted the scary pedals to the beloved bike and even though we are still skating up and down our track I felt honour bound to go for a trial pedal. With every down stroke I said "feet" and with every upstroke I said "ice" and somewhere in between I remembered to breathe. So going at approximately 2 miles an hour and repeating that mantra I manged to negotiate our potholes,snow and black ice in one piece. This is rather more impressive than my first ever outing on a bike without stabilisers when I turned round to smile at my anxious parents and promptly ended up in the roses. OUCH! Steering is still a bit of a challenge particularly whilst chatting. I am so glad that there are many straight avenues in the french countryside. Of course the trees lining said avenues may prove interesting particularly post - prandially...but I will respect their space if they respect mine.

12/2/12
Lesley and I made an executive decision to wimp out of the Long Melford trip due to everything outside being encased in a carapace of frozen rain. So once more a trip through the frozen countryside with the slavering beast .He was as full of bravado as ever and studiously ignored the roe deer stag we encountered on our travels.
Random thought - Eddie Izzard is the sort of mascot for the Olympics volunteers and I just wondered if I were to encounter him in a canteen type setting I would have the guts to tell him he needed a tray....(watch Dressed to Kill if you are puzzled).

Looking forward to Wednesday and a proper christening of the new kit. I will do a splat report afterwards...

Sunday 12 February 2012

Sunday post





8/2/12

As snow stops cycle play again, Lesley and I meet in town for all essential caffeine and scheming. The latest wheeze is to combine an U12s rugby match at Harlequins with a visit to the Bike Show at Sandown Park followed by an attempt to cycle most of the way home. Sounds simple superficially but there are also the thorny issues of making it to first base and avoiding any form of train travel on a Sunday. More schemes and stratagems needed but we will get there.



Suitably fortified with coffee, we head to the bike shop. This is one of many environments in which I am totally out of my depth. At lunch times the place is haunted by skeletal chaps who delight in spending their hard –earned break time ogling bikes and bits of bikes that cost more than my pension fund will earn in a lifetime. Sometimes they cluster in corners for earnest discussions about sprockets and three spoke wheels but mostly they are a solitary breed. They regard obvious novices with great suspicion.



When I first bought my beautiful and beloved bike I figured I had two options:

1.Try and look like I know what I am talking about in a vain attempt at being cool or

2. Be natural i.e. ignorant and unashamed of that ignorance.



As option 1 crashed and burned before I even set foot in the shop ( I arrived by car) I chose the wiser option 2. So henceforth I go straight to the counter, explain in very basic terms what I need and hope for the best. There is always a fleeting look of despair in the assistant’s eyes but then they do try their best to translate my lame request into proper bike vernacular and hunt down the required item. By this time I feel well and truly smaller than my shoe size. However, today I made progress. I felt a small glow of pride when I managed to utter a relevant question about alun keys in relation to my new semi-nerdy shoes – more of which later. Even the assistant cracked a wry smile.



Of course there is no point having nerdy shoes unless one has scary “pedals” to go with them. I put pedals in inverted commas because they bear as much resemblance to a normal pedal as a domestic cat bears to a cheetah. Boy are they lean and I suspect rather mean when I forget to disengage. We agreed that it would be best for their tension to be at the minimum level to start with. Mine,of course, will be ratcheted up to the maximum whenever I use the new set up.



A couple of disguised proper cyclists ( they were in normal clothes) asked me about my decision to switch to grown up gear. When I explained about our proposed trip they did manage not to laugh and suggested pre race fun and games like sprinting down the Mulsanne straight. Let’s just get there first is my view.



So home james with my new toys. I will let them sit on the kitchen top to acclimatise to their new surroundings before I attempt to launch forth in to the Norfolk countryside.
Wimp , Moi? Oui!




First Post

Three Not Very Hairy Bikers Head for France
(or Ls , Belles and a beau)


5/2/12

Sitting in my eyrie gazing at a snow-covered garden must be
the perfect time and place to start putting flesh on the idea of our French
adventure.
How is it that in the
space of a year we have gone from considering a 65 mile cycle to be a once in a
year major event to grabbing the chance to cycle from home to the Loire?
Cycling has definitely got right under our skin and whilst we have all enjoyed
today’s gorgeous snow, I feel slightly miffed that we haven’t had the chance to
do one of our little Sunday excursions..
Lesley is very good at spotting a chance to combine a long
cycle ride with family outings and jollies. So naturally when Shaun mentioned
that he was planning on another Le Mans
trip on his motorbike, her mind turned to“ how can we work a cycle ride in with
that?” It was but a short hop from that thought to “ I know – let’s cycle from
home and meet him there” . Simple.
So we made a few tentative first steps – bought some books
and maps and began to think we might just be able to do it.
The first thing we booked was a place to stay near Le
Mans. We knew we had to leap in to action swiftly on
that front as the weekend of the 24 hour race is the busiest for the region’s
hotels. So now we know exactly where we are going there are just a few details
to fill in along the way and many questions to answer such as:

-
Can we really share a room with Luc and his post
cycling feet,
-
How many pains au raisins/chocolats can we consume in a
day and not return home 10 stone heavier than when we started,
-
Is there a Green Flag rescue service for bikes or can I
just text Bev and rely on him to get me out of trouble as always ,
-
How do I square the circle of being in France
and trying to look acceptable with the likelihood of arriving in most centres
of civilisation looking like sweaty betty,
-      
-
Just what is the right balance of alcohol to
paracetamol to make one immune to saddle sores?

I also wondered about a few little sweepstake style
competitions to entertain our friends as we wend our way South. My first few
thoughts are:

- How many times a day will I crash because I forget that I
am attached to my bike,
- What will be the difference between our planned mileage
and the actual distance we cover?
- How many times can my legendary map –reading skills let us
down before Luc and Lesley throw me in the nearest ditch,
- Dare I mention the P word and how many between us? ( ie
punctures not hedge visits)


All reasonable suggestions for other competitions will be
considered. I am planning on each of us nominating incidents along the lines of
“comedy moment of the day”, “most attractive bonjour/bonsoir”, “crash of the
day” , “best sunburn/panda eyes “ and so on. You get the picture.

6/2/12

Route planning and training planning are coming on apace. I
am slightly concerned that my lovely maps of Normandy
and the Loire are missing a few crucial details like
contour lines and patisserie locations. We are doing our best to avoid places
which seem to involve the words Alpes or Montagne but I have a funny feeling
that our choice of Norfolk as our
home and training base may come home to roost as we glow our way up hill and
down dale with panniers full of vins and fromages. Training a bit banjaxed by
the weather so I ventured on a lovely snowy walk with Marley as a substitute
for a dash round the block. Several comedy moments ensued involving snow filled
ditches and Marley doing springbok impressions with me clinging on the lead and
having to make a swift choice between a face plant in slush or a hand plant in
a snowdrift…

7/2/12
We are planning to do our first longish training ride on
Sunday – to Kentwell Hall in Long Melford. Neither of us has snow tyres and I
feel there is a definite risk of permanent loss of extremities if the
temperature doesn’t climb a reasonable way above zero. Wearing 2 pairs of
everything works pretty well but there is a limit to the number of layers one
can wear and also expect some form of forward motion. Whilst cycling in cold
weather I set my brain on “idle” mode and end up producing Heath Robinson ideas
for, in particular, maintaining circulation in my feet. All I need is some
sticky back plastic, 2 empty washing up liquid bottles with the tops cut off
and a few milk bottle tops. (Or am I getting confused with the space rocket I
made in year 5?) .
I have just received the welcome news that the hybrid shoes
I ordered are now in stock and ready for collection. Sadly hybrid does not mean
that they have jet packs in the heels to provide extra thrust at crucial
moments. Apparently to the casual observer they will look like normal walking
boots while we are strolling around Giverney but beneath their humble exterior
they are in fact nerdy bike shoes which clip on to pedals in a scarily similar
fashion to the ones worn by proper cyclists. The potential for disaster in / on
my incapable feet is huge. I shall have to affix a HUGE sign to my handle bars
saying “FEET” at least for the first 6 months of their use. Now where did Luc
put his skateboarding knee pads?
Again , no chance of a cycle and certainly no-one could be
for tennis so Lesley and I headed off across the frozen landscape with Flynn
and Marley. I rapidly discovered that my wellies are as grippy on ice as a one
woman luge on the Cresta run so Marley and I did a good impression of lads out
at 2am on Prince
of Wales Road. It was a good chance for us to get
up to speed with the planning and try to work out the next steps as well as our
usual agenda of putting the world to rights and discussing developments in
unified field theory.

First Post