It still amazes me how, every time I go on my bike, I end up with a bit of story to tell. This morning me and my trusty folder went for another training session (with only a week to go to the Palace to Palace charity ride). Again to test whether I can possibly manage the distance of 45 miles.
Also, this weekend, my wife bought me a new road bike, so I too will be able to ride like Mr Carbon Frame in the near future. I wonder if I will have as many tales to tell when I am riding on the road more.
Also, I'm writing this blog following a letter written into the Cycling Active Magazine this month. A mountain biker was complaining that road bikers did not acknowledge him on the road. I have to say, that in the food chain my folding hybrid is possibly lower down to even a mountain bike, but I have never had a problem with people talking to me. It's therefore got nothing to do with the type of bike and all to do with lycra. If you wear it your a cyclist's friend, but if you don't, you're a hairy arsed cyclist who doesn't know how to get dressed in the morning.
The Sunday ritual was completed extremely early this morning. I set off at around 8:30am as I knew I was probably going to be out for at least 4 hours. So it was pretty cold to say the least but as well as a new bike wifey also bought me a really good base layer. Can't believe how good it was, it kept me warm throughout the cold morning and as the sun came out and countryside warmed up, I found I wasn't sweating too much either. This is a real addition to the clothing wardrobe (as are the Shimano shoes with cleats for the new bike, that's bound to be another blog post as I come to terms with how to use those so watch out for it).
Last time I did the Palace to Palace distance it took me 4 hours 29, this time I decided in Wiggins style to race myself and see if I could go faster. This was a mistake, because although I did the distance in 4 hours 18 minutes, I was starting to have trouble after the first hour or so. I was also really stupid and taking in a different route with more hills as well (well you never know what London is going to throw at you).
At just over an hour, I started one climb that was pretty steep and started to dig down low. Part way up the hill, the local cycling club past me by. I marvelled at their train, 2 cycles wide and a long winding snake of maybe 8 or so rows. Each row in their club colours, looking at me as they went by shouting "Morning", and me trying my hardest to hide the fact that I was puffing like a train returned their shouts.
Then came their back row, and one cyclist dropped out and kept time with me for a while. Now, sometimes you meet guys who say "I was riding 20 years before you were born", well this guy looked old enough and could have said "I was riding 20 years before yer father was born" and he probably still would have had years to spare. This guy was easily in his eighties.
He kept time for a few hundred yards, grinned and in a really broad yorkshire accent shouted "Eeee, tha loooooks really knackered son!". At this point he puts his hand on my back and just as I was thinking he might really help push me up the hill he laughs at me again and says "ey well lad, can't hang around here all day", at that point he put's the hammer down, left me for standing and by the time his peloton had reached the top of the hill he was back in formation. I bet this guy was a Tour de France rider in his youth, had to be as he breezed away.
Following my road section, I then decided to take a visit to the Trans Pennine Trail. This was a good move as it was wet, muddy and the leaves for autumn had started to fall. This meant that I had to drop my pace, for safety's sake of course (nothing to do with being really tired and wanting to avoid the onslaught of more roadies).
I rode out for around 10 miles before turning around and heading back for home. 5 miles on the way back, a cyclist coming in the other direction stops me and says "Eee can tha help us out?". At this point I notice that he has a really small cut on the end of his nose which is bleeding. He says to me "Can tha tell us if me nose is grazed or cut and if it's bad?". At this point, I notice his daughter who he is riding with, she is maybe seven and she says "I'm not scared of anything, me dads just being a wimp".
I look at the nose and tell him its not too bad and it's almost stopped. To the daughter I say, "I bet that being scared of nothing is what got yer dad his nose job". She then turns around and rather matter of factly says "No Mister, he got that because I rode through some glass and my tyre spit it up in his face". To think I have been trying to get my son to ride with me, this guy would probably have preferred to be on his own, first so he wouldn't have been injured and second so his daughter wouldn't humiliate him in front of complete strangers.
Other than that, the ride was excellent. A little cool, and as it was muddy and slippy it was maybe one of my last rides on the trail until after the winter. Another excuse to try out me road bike, and try to get to the point where I can wait for and catch the old guy on his bike.
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