Shed Brewed

More bothy bikepacking

2018-04-04T11:43:00.000+01:00

It was a bit cold.

This was to be the second bothy trip that Dave and I had done by bike, carrying the minimum of equipment that we could get away with. Train tickets had been booked as Dave was coming from the Midlands and I from South Wales we aimed to meet in Shrewsbury, on the train to Newtown.

The forecast had been getting slowly more pessimistic as the week had gone on and with the expectation of it being around freezing if not a little colder we dressed accordingly, with spare dry and warm kit stowed away. Routes had been discussed by email in the months preceding and although we anticipated staying the night in Lluest Cwm Bach bothy we had packed bivvy bags in case it was full. As it was, it turned out to be empty but I’ll come to that. The route planned was a mix of lanes, access roads, bridleways and hike-a-bike, with the occasional main road thrown in where unavoidable.

From Newtown we headed South East briefly on the A489 before climbing quite sharply along the C-roads towards Bronyvastre and then to Lower Wig. Taking the bridleway through the farmyard and across fields we first rode and then walked as the slopes became too steep and boggy to climb on the bikes.

We joined the B4355 for a short and very cold section along the top past Cider House, watching out for patches of ice left by the melting snow whilst the icy winds and snow spirts whipped our faces.

All warmth generated on the climbs ebbing away. Continuing South along the access road past Banc Gorddwr we found the surface to be surprisingly good, due to the wind-farm development. As yet we hadn’t encountered much in the way of proper Rough stuff! The pub at Llanbadarn Fynydd was closed so lunch would have to wait. Using a mix of access roads and Glyndwrs Way we arrived in Abbey Cwm Hir. There wasn’t much life to be seen in the hamlet, and again the pub was closed. Continuing along the access road that had been adopted as part of the NCN as 825 we encountered a bridge with a small ‘Danger’ sign nailed to a post. The danger being the bridge was without sides, and missing some useful parts of its structure with gaps where the wood surface had rotten and fallen into the water below.

Despite being paved originally, the surface along here was more mulch, mud and holes than bitumen and we quite enjoyed the stiff climb and quick descents as the lane followed the natural topography. Red Kites emerged from the tops of hedges as we passed, and with the clear blue skies above us they joined several others circling on the developing thermals.

Arriving in Rhayader we finally found an open pub to have lunch, at almost 3pm. Chatting in the pub we were told the weather forecast had changed and the light snow that was blowing around was as much as was going to fall. This cheered us. After a drink and plates of fish and chips and ham, egg and chips we carried on out through Elan village and then into the Elan Valley. The dams were all as grand as ever, with spray hazing around from the overflows as we passed. Truly grand engineering.

We rode along the access road around Caban-coch and Garreg-ddu reservoirs and then at the Northern tip of the latter we forked right and rode along the bridleway above Penygarreg reservoir. The NCN81 continues on a paved section a few metres down all the way along from the Visitor Centre before it bears off West across the Craig Goch dam and continues away North. Our path took us along the bridleway East, climbing steadily along a mixed surface of rock and grass as it contoured around Rhiw Caws and Cwm Garw. We broke off and headed North shortly after crossing the ford where the two tumps meet. We were able to ride the sheeptracks for a while, despite some light snow underfoot and then in a moment a cloud of snow enveloped us as the wind blew hard up the valley. Five minutes later it had passed but we were now finding the surface more slippy and the sheep track less easy to follow. We used the bikes as one might use trekking poles to aid our crossing of Nant Gors-y-nod and then once around the bulge of Cefn Cwm we were able to glimpse first of all the trees that stood proud of the bothy, and then down into the gully we saw the bothy itself.

Refurbished in 2013 by the Mountain Bothy Association and Elan Valley Trust the bothy was very presentable and a good size inside; 10-12 could sleep on the raised sleeping area with more on the floor if needed. Reading the bothy book we found out that the table and chairs we were sat at had been made from reclaimed timber from the building. Water was taken by filter from the water butts on site using a small MSR filter and bottles topped up. The stove was lit and warmth began to emanate forth whilst I cooked up dinner. We’d taken in fire materials so were able to leave some behind as well as taking advantage of some coal that had been taken in by a previous occupant. Bed was taken at around 9pm and we looked forward to the next morning.

Overnight the snow arrived quite heavily and after a breakfast of coffee and flapjack we set out into continuing heavy snow fall with around 8-10” underfoot. Due to the gradient we were always going to have to hike-a-bike out from the bothy. The plan had been to hike North-Easterly up Waun Fign and rejoin the bridleway across Esgair Perfedd. However as we continued to climb up with the bothy disappearing behind us the conditions were worsening. Around 30 metres from the top and struggling to hold ourselves and bikes upright as we waded through the deepening snow we made the decision instead contour around towards the bridleway lower down, descending gently as we did so. The snow was drifting in places and at one point as I found a rocky edge with my boot sole I took another step and found myself down in snow up to my waist. There were numerous slides and stumbles, with the wheels of the bikes rendered immobile by the snow gathered around the tyres and tubes. Carrying, dragging and sliding the bikes along, we continued around Cefn Cwm. At some point along the section the map on my handlebars was blown away down the valley. I hadn’t noticed it as the snow whipped against my face and the wind threatened to unseat us from the valley side and down towards the reservoir below. We disturbed a Peregrine Falcon not ten feet away as we used Gorse bushes proud of the snow as stepping stones to guide us. It burst away from the ground and in a beautiful flash of greys and creams flew down the valley away from us.

There were moments where we contemplated leaving the bikes and trekking back to the bothy but we could see the dark outline of the bridleway not too far ahead. Rejoining at the ford, the dark line of stone was clear against the white background of snow due to the water flowing down the path of least resistance. With joy we remounted and began riding along. Not 100 yards later there as a crunch as my ice-laden chain and cassette bound up the rear derailleur and it bent up into the wheel. I was bemused as to how it had occurred as I hadn’t touched the shifters. Still that wasn’t going to help reconcile the problem. With the snow up past the axles I shifted the bike around until I was able to split the chain and remove the derailleur. Now able to push the bike we continued until we reached the toilets and the NCN section at the dam. I busied myself bending the hanger out from the cassette, and removing the cable and tying it up to the chainstay. Then measuring the chain up and removing a section in order to create a length suitable to singlespeed the bike. Once that was done I was able to enjoy a chocolate mini-roll that Dave kindly thrust into my hands. Spinning the cranks by hand it became clear the chain was bowstring tight. This concerned me as there was only a narrow 11-speed chain on, not the usual 1/8” chain of a singlespeed or fixed gear. But it did mean I was now mobile at a pace quicker than walking.

Re-tracing our route out, I was minimising pedal efforts and walking on the steeper climbs to minimise risk of chain snap. To our amusement this created a ‘tortoise and hare’ all the way to the Visitor Centre as Dave would ride past me on the ascents, and I past him on the descents; more confident due to the years of cyclocross racing, that and I was really looking forward to a cooked breakfast! We met a lone walker above the Visitor centre who confirmed it was closed so we were then committed to heading into Rhayader to find some food. A friendly café on the corner provided a large plate of hot food whilst we reviewed our options. We were behind time by some margin; it had taken us three and a half hours to get the 9 miles to Rhayader from the bothy, and the planned train home from Newtown was at 14:50. With my singlespeed gear inch of just 44” our top speed on the flat was no more than 12 mph and on the climbs it was walking pace.

We made the decision to head towards Pen-y-bont station to try and make the train to Shrewsbury for our connections from there. This meant using the A44 although due to the weather it was mostly quiet. We were passed by maybe 10 cars by the time we had made the station. There was a suspicious lack of visible rail showing, although the train we planned to catch was the first of the day so we tried not to draw pessimistic conclusions from that.

After a half hour wait and a couple of phone calls we found out that train had been cancelled due to frozen points at Craven Arms. The options left now weren’t very palatable but we decided to ride the 23 miles from Crossgates to Newtown along the A483. I have to say Dave was stoic in his decision and leading on, and as the miles passed by, and I ate more jelly babies I felt stronger. Traffic again was very quiet on the trunk road and we took turns in the wind with the other rider following on the wheel. It was with some surprise that we rounded a corner near Dolfor to see cars stopped in the road, and pedalling up to the head of the queue I could see cars at odd angles in the road along the snow, and a plough trying to clear the way. Near the front was a Traffic Police car so I pulled alongside and asked if the road was closed, to which the officer replied that no; it was just this section that was difficult. We shared a joke and then they kindly gave us some hot water in our bottles to defrost the iced slush that the water had turned into. We rode on and carried our bikes around the plough and stranded cars before remounting and carrying on the last few miles into Newtown which thankfully were gently descending. The police car passed us shortly before Newtown with a flash of blue lights and a wave.

After a warming tray of chips at Genie’s opposite the ginnel to the train station we were finally at our destination. It turned out that the earlier train we had been booked on had been cancelled and so the approaching 16:40 was the first one we would have been able to board. Before it arrived we chipped off the accumulated ice and snow from our bikes in order that the melt water wouldn’t cause an issue on the train.

A tough 85 miles, and whilst not to plan it was still an enjoyable experience. There are still many byways and bridleways yet to be ridden in that area, and a couple more bothies to try out so we will return.

Tyres, Gravel, Gnarmac, Grinduro, Grrrrrrr

2017-05-07T17:30:00.000+01:00

The rise and rise of the 'adventure/gravel/bikepacking bike' has been well observed and truth is for a lot of the riding that takes place casually it's probably a great choice of bike style. I jumped on the bandwagon with the purchase of a deeply uncool Raleigh Maverick Comp last year as it ticked all the boxes for me, and was on sale, and I got discount thanks to British Cycling. Being a tinkerer I couldn't leave it be and so of the original bike, all that's left is the Reynolds 631 frame and cromoly forks, shifters, cables, front and rear derailleurs and cassette, and brake calipers. Oh and the bar tape although that has begun to delaminate so I'll likely change that soon too.
To the real point of this post though. Tyres. I love tyres. I mean I really love them. I have around 15-20 pairs in the shed at least, loose or mounted. Tyres for all wheel sizes I own and all bikes, and some I no longer own. I try not to think about how much money is tied up in them. With the growth of the market mentioned in the opening line, there has been a revival/corresponding growth in the tyre market to suit.
On of the main reasons I plumped for the Raleigh was the very good tyre clearances on the frame and forks. Why is this important? Well bigger tyres means higher volumes means more grip and more comfort. All good things.
My first foray into the larger tyres was with a second hand pair of Compass Barlow Pass in 700x38c size. Skin/gum/tan wall of course.

Here they are on the stock Raleigh wheels during a christmas day ride. Great tyres, very supple and grippy but a bit fragile off the road and on the chippings and loose seal that makes up some of the towpaths, sorry gravel, around here. I had a new set of wheels built by the excellent Ryan Builds Wheels over the water in Bristol around an SP dynamo front hub, and a Hope Pro4 rear hub with DT Swiss XM421 tubeless rims and the Barlow Pass wouldn't stay up happily tubeless. As a note, they're not supposed to be, but sometimes tyres will work.

With some trips coming up I was searching for some tyres with more grip for off road, and that would work tubeless. I had narrowed it down to the Bruce Gordon Rock n Road 700x43c, the Soma Cazadero 700x42c and the Panaracer Gravelking SK (small knob, teehee) 700x40c. All built on/by Panaracer in Japan. Being precious and vain I wanted tan/skin/gum walls which meant pre-ordering the Gravelking SK's from Winstanley's Bikes who were very helpful, and ordering a pair of the Rock n Roads from Bruce Gordon himself, shipped to my friends in Canada who we were visiting a few weeks later in early March. This being mid-February and me being the sort of person who can't get an idea out of their head unless it's acted upon. My trip was in April...

Long story short, the Rock n Roads were/are excellent off road on the dry and loose surfaces I rode and slightly draggy but not terrible on road. Which you would have guessed from the tread pattern.
On the 25mm wide rims, they came up slightly oversize

They cleared the frame just fine, and were a lot of fun in use.

I didn't weigh them, but stated weight was 560g each. I would guess they would be around that. They went up and stayed up tubeless and worked well at around 40psi with camping gear laden up.
The Gravelking SKs arrived last Friday and as I wasn't going to be doing some KGnarr-shredding I swapped them over from the RnRs. They have a coloured wall over a black carcass, as opposed to the RnRs and Barlow Pass's which are black over a tan carcass. Just an observation. The other observation was that the carcass felt markedly stiffer than the other two tyres. Maybe twice as stiff as the Barlow Pass's.

Straight up tubeless and a little oversize, again on the 25mm wide rims so to be expected.
Riding on them on- and off-road they really do roll very well and there was even a lot of grip in the dry. I ran 50psi to begin with as I was expecting a little air loss from the first tubeless inflation. I think they could be dropped to 40/45psi with no problems. I really am rather happy with them. Weight was 490g, and they came up at 498g. Strangely they felt heavier in my hands than the RnRs.
I am waiting on delivery of a pair of the Snoqualmie Pass 700x44c tyres again from Compass for winter road use, this post will be updated.

Of plans, ideas and notions.

2017-04-26T18:03:00.004+01:00

I can't remember the exact date or programme I was watching but sometime last year I caught a snippet on television about the Wayland's Smithy and the folklore attached to it. Now I'm a superstitious pagan at heart, and the the thought of being able to plan a trip around this location; and the village of Avebury somewhere else I had long wanted to head to, excited me.
I booked a chunk of leave off work many months in advance and began to plan.
It made sense to make use of the Ridgeway* to travel between the sites and as I was doing it by bicycle I might as well see how far along the Ridgeway I could get as well. After all, April was normally nice and warm wasn't it?

Last week was certainly warm, but with an unerring inevitability that comes with trips being planned this week marked a turn in the weather toward the rather fresh side. Still the forecast (ha ha) looked manageable for cycle touring. The last comparable trip had been in September with my friend Dave with whom I explored the southernmost bothy in Wales on my cyclocross bike. This time I had a new bike; my hefty Raleigh Maverick which has an all-up weight heavy enough to plough furrows.

Loaded up with seat pack containing sleeping bag, tipi flysheet and gas canister, frame bag containing tipi pole and pegs, flapjacks, wash kit, loo roll and other ephemera, and bar bag containing sleeping mat and mess tins I rounded off with a small Acre Hauser backpack containing some spare clothes, super noodles and maps. I was carrying my water on the bike this time instead of on my back and that helped a lot. I still took too much and I think each trip is an exercise at thinning down. What would be beneficial would be fork mounted bags or a larger bar bag or porteur rack so I could ditch the backpack all together. I digress.

Setting off from my Mum's just outside Chippenham I headed cross country toward Avebury. I was using the frankly excellent Polaris map trap to keep ahold of the maps and it made life so much easier. As a note, OS maps fold just right to fit into a large Ziploc bag. Instant waterproof map! My step-dad had kindly given me the map of the local area as it was one I was lacking, and he provided the details for the first leg to Avebury.

The first sighting I had of something really exciting was the white horse at Cherhill and set me in good mood for carrying on toward Avebury.

A gentle trundle along the A4 and soon I reached the chance to leave the main road and head along the byway taking the more traditional route into the village. This meant passing by the two long stones, Adam and Eve, the only two left standing from that direction.

Leaving them the gentle byway took me right into the village with only a pause to stop by the community shop for postcards, and not bother looking in the commercial gift shop next door.

Postcards written and posted it was time for a pint and some lunch in the pub. Mixed affair but still it filled a hole. I had a quick look at the other stones around the village and chatted to another cyclist before pressing on.

The village was nice enough but still lots of signs of erosion around the stones and the National Trust doing a lot of work to keep things in order. Granted I was a tourist too but it was a quiet Monday afternoon and there were enough people milling about to keep it busy. Out of Avebury and to West Kennett where the recent iteration of the Ridgeway begins. The photo at the top was taken by the initial fingerpost. The conditions were dry and the ground firm with plenty of washboard and ruts to bounce across. I'll be honest I didn't feel too much hope about enjoying it at this stage as my arms and legs took a pounding from the rigid bike and surface.
Gradually it smoothed off, as the distance from the car park grew and soon it was quite pleasurable to ride.

I wasn't sure when to expect surface changes but with each rise and fall of the landscape the underlying geology revealed itself where the grass or crops were worn away. The views from Barbury Castle were quite spectacular and it took me a while to realise that the large grey/purple/blue patches weren't lavender (too early) or water (too neat) but solar farms.

Heading on from the tops I paused to chat to a chap riding the other direction and who it turned out lived locally. As I asked a few questions about directions and conditions he told me that the Ridgeway as a route had many iterations and most points could be reached by several of them. I stuck to the main trail as marked on my map, and supported by the fingerposts but it was interesting to know. I caught up with a couple of walkers further along and rode alongside chatting for a while. The common denominator was we were both carrying whisky. I said I was stopping to make a brew further along the route toward Liddington and would maybe see them there.
At an intersection of 3 ways I had a pause and look back to see from where I had come and to see if I could spot the walkers.

I couldn't so I pressed on toward the hill fort at Liddington and a chance to find somewhere out of the wind to brew up. Whilst the view from where I had come was pleasant enough

The spot I was brewing in was rather less salubrious!

Still, it was out of the wind and a chance to rest up.
As I packed away the skies darkened and the wind began to pick up in gusts; bending the trees above me and really whistling around the pillbox I was sheltered by. I paused a moment to consider waiting out the ensuing rain in the pillbox but it was just too scuzzy so I donned my rain jacket, tugged the peak of my cap down and pressed on. I was only in the rain for about half an hour but with the wind chill it was enough to have me considering options for tea and warming up. My back was twinging and the thought of somewhere warm was appealing. At another byway intersection I slowed to speak to two ladies in a pony and trap and ask their advice about local pubs. With a couple of names in my ears I carried on until I found a water stop at Ridgeway farm and then another chance to drop off the Ridgeway down into Ashbury. I noted wryly that the descent down carried a warning sign of 10% gradient. Wryly as I knew to rejoin the trail I'd be riding back up it!
With the kitchens just opening and some tasty pie on the way I soon settled in.

If you're ever passing, I can heartily recommend the Rose and Crown in Ashbury.
The problem I now had was that I was warming up, comfortable and with a few hours of daylight left, contemplating my next move. My inner monkey was twitching to head back to my Mum's 30 miles away by road but I knew I wanted to get to the Smithy which wasn't too much further up the trail. After a coffee to spur me on I departed the comfort of the pub and climbed back up that hill.
It was worth it.
Utterly worth it.

My goosebumps had begun from the moment I turned off the trail to get to the Smithy and they tingled strongly the whole time I was there walking around the barrow.

It really is quite impressive. With a tot of whisky poured and supped I moved on.
Next up was the White Horse at Uffington and the ground began to reveal the bone-white underlying chalk as I rode.

With the time passing and the sun beginning to set as I wandered around the hill fort I saw the horse from an odd angle

with Dragon hill just below and the hill fort behind me it was a commanding view of the landscape.

I made the call to stay the night instead of taking the stupid option of riding back. After all that was the underlying reason I had come this far and carried all the kit. I found somewhere out of sight and set up the tipi before turning in for the night as the cold came. I was so cold I put every item of clothing I had on. Predictably it was about an hour later when I woke in sweat absolutely baking. Removing all the extra layers and just down to my base layer and ron hills I was settling back down to sleep when I cold hear a rustling outside. Peering out of the fly and I was bemused; was it the wind just being amplified by the tipi? A moment of silence was broken by rustling and the shadows of rabbits moving about. Phew, it wasn't the smithy come to get me, or ancient horses.

Woken at just after 4am by a skylark my grump at being awake was tempered by the beauty that is birdsong. I was warm and cosy in the sleeping bag but a peek outside revealed that the temperature had dropped enough to frost any damp areas. With more layers donned I set up a brew for breakfast, cursing the lack of a windbreak.

The backpack helped a bit and once the coffee was made I dropped the tipi and packed everything up. Coffee drunk and the recalcitrant sleeping mat squeezed into the bar bag on the second attempt with numb fingers I double checked my surroundings and pedalled off.
I had decided that I didn't have enough warm cycling gear to continue further along the Ridgeway, and this was reinforced as I rode out to head back towards my beginning. Again despite having all the clothing I had with me on, I was shivering. I rolled along the lanes instead of along the top to try and find warmth out of the wind but it was no good. The weather was bitter. Surprisingly I passed several other cyclists though all with far more clothing on than I! A brief pause at a village shop for a Snickers, my long-standing favourite snack of choice and a phone call from a friend and I was away again. The change from riding along the Ridgeway to passing through the villages beneath meant I was spending time checking my route on the map a lot more instead of being able to roll freely. I should have stuck to the top and gritted it out. A lesson learned.

By around 9 I was feeling somewhat jaded and my hummingbird metabolism was kicking in. Time for second breakfast. It was to consist of the same as the first but still it would be welcome.

I sat for 20 minutes whilst the water boiled and I subsequently supped the coffee and munched the flapjack. I was about an hour from finishing and felt satisfied with what I had done. No great mileage but certainly a challenge and an opportunity to see new old sights. My final few miles took me alongside the Maud Heath Causeway and despite the road being dry at this time I felt the need to make use of the monument.

Within a quarter of an hour I was back at my car and able to change and warm up. It was almost 22 hours since I had set off yet it seemed like so much more time. The stats, dull as they are; were 78 miles ridden, 4,800ft climbed, average speed 12 mph. I really learned a few more things about bikepacking and how best to do it, I'm sure these will be refined further. I've not finished with the Ridgeway yet. I also learned more about my anxiety and how to deal with it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. The trick is to keep trying and to remind myself to keep trying.

*I found the National Trail website very useful in detailing where the route went, and water points as well as additional info regarding the leniency on trail-side camping; leave no sign of doing so and be considerate AKA don't be a dick. Good rule for life.

Almost a year of allotmenting.

2016-12-19T17:48:00.001+00:00

Not actually a year but 9 months to date. It's been a real time for learning.
I took a plot on that had been heavily planted with potatoes for several years. Not only that but it was in the shade of adjoining trees. Not an ideal plot, but a plot nonetheless and for the princely sum of £14 for the year.

With an idea to plant and grow the vegetables that are both tasty to eat and also work out expensive in the shop I had a short list of the following:
Broad beans
Peas
Romanesco Cauliflower
Cavolo Nero
Purple Sprouting Broccolli
Artichokes
Courgettes
Squash
Strawberries

I had friends help me dismantle, carry and then erect a shed

I put a basket on my bike to make the trips to and from the allotment and carry my goods

And I did grow some good lettuce

In truth I made the mistake this year of not looking after the soil enough. Although I dug in manure and phosphates I don't think the ground had been replenished enough from growing so many years of spuds. Some of the crops flourished; my broad beans were fantastic and the courgettes cropped well.
The Cavolo Nero has done well, and I had some intermittent peas, otherwise I made another mistake of not thinning the brassicas hard enough. This meant they all strived for the same light and consequently I ended up with tall plants that weren't particularly fruitful. The artichokes really suffered with the shade but are looking to be getting stronger as the year has gone on. I'm hopeful that next year they will come into their own and crop well.

So what to grow and do next year? Well I have a love of chilli peppers and am outgrowing my greenhouse at home. I'd like to put a polytunnel up down there, as well as try for better results with tomatoes and peas. There will have to be some serious digging done over the next few months but I think it's possible.

Hurrah! Bikepacking! Actually doing a thing!

2016-09-27T22:01:00.000+01:00

I'm a dreamer, a romantic and I love to make plans and jot ideas down. Very rarely those ideas come to fruition, or those plans are realised, but sometimes they do.
A spurious text sent to my friend Dave asking if he fancied some cyclocross bikepacking to a bothy was met with the response; Hmm...interesting...
Not long after there was confirmation of a couple of available dates; a friday off work was booked and that was the beginning.
The nearest bothy to me is in the Black Mountains, up at the end of Grwyne Fawr reservoir and after poring over an OS map of the area I began to put a route together that would take the two of us from home, to the bothy for an overnight stay, and then back home the next day, avoiding main roads, or indeed roads at all where possible.
Neither of us had used a bothy before and although I'd done a bit of touring previously that had either been supported or solo but always on road. There was no way of booking obviously so it was felt best to plan for a worse case scenario; that the bothy was occupied, and to take kit to ensure we would be dry and warm should we end up under canvas (or lightweight si-nylon.).
I was keen to take food and a stove, so Dave offered to carry the tipi outer and pole and we both had bivi bags to go over the sleeping bags. After a couple of practice packs and a shakedown run I was pretty pleased with my set up, even though I lost a rear light on the shakedown run.
Friday arrived, and later in the afternoon so did Dave ad we began to assemble the bikes and gear. Dave has known me for some time and I can get a little hangry so I noted with pleasure he was packing enough cereal bars to keep a school field trip fed.

Away then.

First stop was towards Abergavenny to timecheck and contemplate whether to stop for tea at a pub.

We take the lanes and soon come to the Crown at Pantygelli. Sadly food isn't served until 7pm which may make us rather later than hoped getting to the bothy. Still, always time for a pint...

The other bit of good news was that we were still on the right track. Heading from the pub we came to a crossroads and were somewhat surprised to find a sign pointing us towards the ACTUAL place we wanted to be. This threw us as we should have taken a smaller lane off to the left instead of following the sign.

The reason being the route had been planned to take in bridleways and forest tracks and the signed route along a singletrack road skirted the edge of the woods and followed the river, which was nice but not planned. At the end of the road was this sign.

You will notice it is dark. Time had passed and we both agreed that despite there being a couple of opportunities to head off into the woods to ride a bit of bridleway we wouldn't gain anything by doing so. The road was quiet and other than bats we saw a courting couple in a car and a resident in the hour we were on it.
I don't have any pictures for the next hour suffice to say it was interesting and I believe the route at times could best be described as cheeky. We managed to find a way across the river, and then following what appeared to be the marked track we found ourselves steadily coming down to the shore of the reservoir. Not ideal but it would deliver us to the bothy, we placated ourselves with. The grassy track got slimmer and soon we were pushing the bikes along the rocky shore with very little room to be. Eventually that too ran out and we scrambled up the steep valley side through the bracken and found a stock fence. Seemingly we had chosen the wrong side from the outset. Over the fence and along a larger track until we came to where the bothy should be. Our lamps picked it out to the left and down the valley. The other side of the fence. Huh.
Another fence hop and a downhill scramble trying to avoid stumbling down holes and rocks. Then, finally we were at the bothy. One of the positive aspects of not being able to see it from the track, meant that it was unoccupied. In we went, and candles lit.

I then got the stove lit and tea cooking, whilst getting a fire going in the woodburner. Dave set up sleeping quarters in the roof space above. One all sorted we settled down to a candlelit supper of curry and rice by the fire. With rum.
Halfway through the rum there was a sound not unlike that of someone sharpening a knife near the door. Dave and I looked at each other and there was a moment when each of us had the thought above. Dave shone his light around and staring back was a mouse. In our defence the mouse was stood next to the axe and on the shovel and the scraping had been it's feet on the metal.
The mouse gave no heed to us and carried on it's mousey business. More later.
With time passing it was time to hit the sack. Up the ladder and into the sleeping bags.

Around mid-morning; 3am, there was the sound of rattling down stairs so down I went. There was the mouse staring back at me and quite happily munching on some bourbon biscuits. The mouse cleared off and I tidied up.

Next morning we awoke a few hours later than planned and while Dave packed I got the washing up done from the night before and then got a brew on for us to enjoy with our flapjack breakfast.

Once all done, the bothy was cleaned and the bikes were laden. After another scramble up the sides we hit the trail again, somewhat easier to spot in the daylight. A beautiful day it was too.

View from the bothy door.

There was a fair breeze blowing in but thankfully it was dry. We picked our way along the top with a mix of walking and riding as the rocky surface and our narrow tyres were not a happy mix.

After what seemed like rather a long time (6.2mph average) we reached the end of the flat section and the descent of Y Das to come off the top. This may have been rideable on the mountain bike at home in the shed, but wasn't so great on the cyclocross bikes laden with luggage.

Soon enough the track levelled out and became a gentler descent as promised by the widening contour lines on the map. Back on the bikes and down we went. Pausing and dismounting for the odd section with drainage blocks in.

The final roll out was a hummocky grass section. Wheeeeeee....

Joining a tiny road again we picked up the pace and kept rolling along nicely. We came to the junction where straight ahead was onto a bridleway and chatted a while with a checkpoint crew of a fell race, they kindly gave us a bottle of water each and then we were away onto the almost-hard clay surface of the bridleway.

This traced around the bottom of Pen Twyn Glas and dropped us back onto another tertiary road. Deciding to take a final bridleway before Cwmdu we encountered lots of tiny rocks, nettles and brambles, along with the odd fallen tree. Such a shame the NERC act came into place and these routes aren't kept clear through use.

Back on the main roads again and they felt somewhat alien as we headed into Crickhowell for a cooked breakfast at the fine Courtroom Cafe. We made the time cut off by a minute. How's that for timing.

From Crickhowell it was a few more roads and then onto the canal towpath at Govilon to have a flat and quiet run back home. Total mileage for the two days was 63.7miles and 4,780ft of climbing.
Kit:

Planet X XLS cyclocross bike, my race bike. 1x10 gearing with 34T chainring and 11-32 cassette.
Challenge Baby Limus open tubs, latex tubes. Four4th Genesis lamp.
Alpkit Koala seat pack containing Snugpak Softie Elite sleeping bag, Khyam bivi bag and gas canister.
Apidura small bar pack containing Exped synmat, trek mates titanium cookset.
Acre Hauser 14l backpack containing everything else-

The pillow didn't make the cut. Yes I did use the trowel. Responsibly. Also had 2.5 litres of water in the pack.
I wore my faithful Rapha brevet jersey, merino armwarmers for Friday evening and Saturday morning, Morvelo stormshield 3/4 knickers, bolle safety specs and some DMT Lynx SPD shoes.
Fantastic fun.

Do you wake up proud?

2016-02-20T12:18:00.002+00:00

Too much of the time I think is caught up in processes.
Processes of the time to do habitual things.
How often do we challenge ourselves?
There's a new challenge on the way for me.
I'm not sure if I'm ready but even failures are learning experiences.
Disruption does not have to be destructive.

Damaged film photo of falls in Iceland

Out with the old, in with the new.

2016-01-01T19:20:00.002+00:00

Ticked two jobs off the list today by making the most of the cold snap and pruning the apple trees then going on and pruning/managing the twisted willow tree. I had feared it was getting too large for the area it was in, and the wind was whipping it about a lot. Turns out that the wind had indeed been busy and one of the larger boughs was split longitudinally.

It makes me smile that we brought it back as a sapling in the back of Michelle's A4 and now it stands the same height as the lamppost. The tree was spurred into three from the base when we put it in and the first of the three spurs was cut off some years ago and was about 2" diameter I remember and I took it off with a tenon saw. Today required hatcheting off small branches, then bow-sawing off larger ones before firing up the chainsaw to take the last main part off, which was 5-6" diameter.

Next up was processing all the wood. I worked progressively and first of all thinned back the canopy branches into wood for pea-poles, wood for kindling and then the thinner canopy twigs. The twigs were then baled up with Michelle's help to dry before being used for either kindling or for fencing/windblocks.

Using a piece of sycamore trunk as a chopping block I was able to go through the small stuff quite quickly with the Granfsors Bruks hatchet. Finally it was a case of firing the chainsaw up and logging the main spur for firewood.

A satisfying day.

Above all else, or Quitting because it just wasn't fun anymore.

2015-11-05T12:32:00.000+00:00

First off, it's been a year. So quickly time has gone past.
It's a useful measurement, or a good gap to have in order that what follows has more merit.
The reason being that around a year ago I was looking for a cycling coach to help me get faster and place higher in races. Around that time give or take a few weeks I had just found a coach and was making arrangements for initial physiological testing with them.
I had high expectations of both myself and of the coach.
This isn't going to be a negative diatribe on coaching or individual coaches but more an observation on life and decisions made.
The testing revealed that I wasn't a great performer and that opportunities for huge progression were poor due to my genetic make up, but there was opportunity to build on what I had. Agreements were made and I had myself a coach. I finished the 2014 racing season and lined myself up for the operation in early January to repair my shoulder after the 2013 crash.
From February on everything I did became centered around my training plans. Going to visit friends? Got to take the bike and kit and fit in several hours of riding. Fancy a romantic meal? Got to get a ride in before. Leading a club ride? Got to make sure it's pedalled at my training plan zone.
So it continued. Early indications were good and I was pleased with how I was performing against the plan. Whilst my cycling was improving the rest of the things within my life were becoming shabby. The garden was getting overgrown but I didn't have time or energy to fix it because I was or had been cycling. The house needed repainting but I didn't have the time or energy for it because I was cycling. I was going to see friends but I was back early because I was cycling.
At no point did I remember that I started cycling again to help me deal with my mental anxiety issues.
At no point did I remember that I had written in the front of a book on training that I'd gifted to a good friend; 'remember it's supposed to be fun'.

2015 Battle on the Beach. What should've been a fun event left me feeling disappointed as I felt I had chosen the wrong gear ratio to race in singlespeed thus slipping down the field.
What I should have come away feeling was happy that I was in the top third of the field despite being on the wrongly geared bike, and that the sheer act of riding along the beach and through the woods and dunes with like-minded people was great.

Injuries or illnesses seemed to crop up more regularly. My usual accident-prone self was suffering more with niggles and aches and bugs. I was eating healthily yet was crook a lot more.
I raced a club time trial too soon after having been bed-ridden with Campylobacter and was vomiting as I rode from a mixture of exertion and simply still being too ill. But that didn't matter. What mattered was getting a good time.
When that good time didn't happen, because I was ill and yet too stupid to realise, I was disappointed so I had to train harder. I saw the benefits of being struck with Campy in that I had suddenly lost a lot of weight and was lither than I had been for a very long time.

I could hardly walk the day after that 10 mile TT due to back pain yet I had finished 10th on a course that many disliked yet somehow I had found good. I had actually enjoyed the race.
I started to try little things, little marginal gains, to ease my pains. The oval chainrings were removed to see if a constant effort would help. The handlebars were raised, then lowered then raised again. The aero extensions, the skis, were changed to ease the pain from my broken and pinned wrist and shoulder. I tried several pharmaceuticals to try and ease the pains whilst riding from my suffering body. I can confirm that Valium does not help set a good time in a 10 mile TT. That Codeine makes you actually want to have a sleep, not push your body to the limit of what it is capable of.

In July I had the biggest and best day of my life and it was nothing to do with cycling. I got married. The whole effort brought on a massive focal point of pain into my back and I can't remember it ever being more painful. I was dosed up on Tramadol, Valium, Cocodamol, Gabapentin, enough pills to knock a pachyderm out yet I can remember the whole day and the drugs seemed not to even hit the sides. What saw me through the day was two things; the love and support of those who were there with me both on the day and in the months leading up to it, and the knowledge that I was going to be with the person who I truly loved and cared about so deeply it shocked me. I danced that evening like I had never danced before. There was no pain, there was no talent or style, there was just sheer exuberance and joy. There are also no pictures (that I am sharing).

I stopped being coached during that time and remain un-coached. The drills that I was supposed to be undertaking were too much for me to do without physical repercussions. It was an amicable split and I doubt the coach missed my monthly pay cheque or mixed-feedback forms on the training plans. Whilst it was a little thing to do the impact of it was much bigger. I had control again over what I wanted to do. I still wanted to cycle but the format changed. I had learned from my time with the coach and from the books I had read on training and I could see that likely I wasn't going to live up to my own ambitions. But that it was ok to fail.
I wasn't and I'm not impervious or indestructible. Those injuries accrued over the years are making themselves felt as I age, but I have learned that I can tolerate an awful lot of pain and still carry on. I have learned that I have the mental strength to dig in and go that bit harder when it's needed. I rode, and set a PB, in a 50 mile Time Trial 4 days after breaking my wrist. I didn't get through that just with training. I got through that because of the mental strength knowing my sister was going through much more pain and discomfort than I was due to illness yet was running the longest race that she had ever done. It's those additional things that provide the strength each day to each of us. We're far more capable of actions than we think we are. There are times to be negative and sad and there are times to be elated. If we didn't have the shit times then we'd never know how to celebrate the truly good. Life isn't magnolia.

I saw opportunities to take what I had and grow with it. I bought a mountain bike and went and rode in the hills nearby because it was great fun.

I had chips and a pint afterwards because it was great fun and bloody tasty.
I've redefined my goals. I loved riding time trials when the bike was humming away underneath me and the wind was whistling past my head. When then sounds were of the trispoke front wheel chopping through the air and of the strain of the chain as I pushed against the pedals. That 50 mile Time Trial was the last I am riding for now. I don't know when or if I'll TT again but it won't be next year. That's fine. I'm ok with that. I liked how racing gave me a focus but I didn't like how that focus became all-consuming. I look forward to finding new avenues for my competitive streak which has developed and maybe we can have a pint together some time. I never share chips.

When I was a lad...

2014-11-16T21:41:00.001+00:00

All this were fields. That's how it goes isn't it? It's also one of the first things that came out of my mouth unintentionally when I was in a car with my closest friends heading back into the Fenland village I grew up in; Holbeach.
Where to start? In 1986 our family arrived in Holbeach, a small village in the south of Lincolnshire known as South Holland. The heart of the Fens.

See, says so there.
That's not near Holbeach though, that's between Bourne and Spalding but it sets the scene well. Anyway I was 6 years old and actually back not 20 miles from where I had been born.

A true Lincolnshire Yeller Belly. We moved in 1998 8 miles up the road and I finally left the county and the big skies of the Fens in 2002. There may have been some odd looks from the residents of Holbeach as we drove around that wet Saturday afternoon with me jumping out of the car to snap away at apparently random bits of scenery and landscape.
Best start with the road I lived on then. Damgate, also known as Damgate Road and Nobs Road colloquially. Nobs Road due to the posh nobs who lived there, apparently. Notice the absence of the 'k'. Nob was equivalent to Toff, not cock. At the top of the road there's now a small cul-de-sac with a couple of houses in. When I grew up this wall:

wasn't complete at the left end and we could climb up to the top using the broken bricks as steps. There was a tall mesh fence around the rest of it you see. Many afternoons were spent playing den and climbing the tree, still there. On the last day of sixth form I hate to admit but as I got off the school bus, pissed, at half four I absolutely had to take a slash against the wall, around the corner and out of sight of passersby. All that cider had caught up with me.
But away from poor bladder control.
Whilst being the proud owner of my first mountain bike a great mate and I decided to see how late we could brake and how strongly we could do so on our fine machines. Neither of us can remember why we decided to do this heading towards the wall of the Community Centre

On my final attempt (it's always the final one where shit happens) my front brake cable snapped and I went into and up the wall using my face as a brake. Forks bent, face damaged, pride dented. Back home to have my Dad fit a new set of forks. It was not a proud moment.
A little further down the road is the old railway track

now apparently a Private Road...
It used to be the cut through to ride at the local motocross practice track for me. A long straight road to wind my RM80 big wheel up as I got to feel the greatness of motorcycles with my first bike (£80, bought with paper round tips at 14). Neeeeeeeooooooowww.
After a brief culinary intermission at the Chameli Tandoori

where I had my first ever take away curry as part of a Non-veg Thali and also saw in my 18th birthday with something hotter, allow me to share a brief litany of accidents.
First and second occasions of being hit by a car within 50 yards of each other along Boston road.

First time wasn't my fault as a car pulled out from the car garage into my cycling path. The second time definitely was my fault as I ran across the junction on a green light and got collected by a passing light metallic green Ford Fiesta at 30mph. I only know this was the car as I found out afterwards. I don't have any memory of the accident. Only waking up briefly in the ambulance on the way to hospital and then being in hospital for four days.
Hall hill park where I fell out of a tree after a branch broke underneath me and deposited me on the ground from a decent height and also had my head banged against the top bar of the swings after being pushed with a lot of force, but not enough to loop.

Cutting back through from the park was a case of trying to hold breath as you passed the flour mill

and then making sure you didn't swallow any mosquitos down the cut

I found a C90 down there once.
There's many more stories to tell but a trip which I thought was going to be full of negative emotions was actually full of laughter, piss taking and merriment, rounded off with a pint and some great Lincolnshire sausage and chips. Thanks boys.

Thanks also to Lucy for coming along to visit places that were home to me when you were born. It was good having you there all these years late.

Long time, long thoughts.

2014-11-12T21:51:00.001+00:00

Readers who like to come here and look at the pretty photos or the pushbikery (there is a little bit) may want to skip this one as it's going to be a waffle about my achilles heel, or more precisely my anxiety issues.
Let's indulge a little and have a rewind back to 2009/10.
*cue Wayne's World shimmying*

I began to fret about little things; was the cat ok? I kept having to check to make sure he was fine and happy. This would even be needed in the early hours of the morning. I used to be a heavy sleeper but that was changing and I would wake and suddenly need to find Roscoe and make sure he was ok and elicit a purr. Then it got slightly worse still and I began to worry about getting a hangover if I had a beer.

Physical manifestations started with a tight feeling in my abdomen which would leave me feeling sick but I never had any bowel issues although this didn't stop the GP diagnosing IBS and booking me in for a colonoscopy. Of course my anxiety (ah hindsight) immediately went straight to the worse case scenario; I clearly was going to find out that I had bowel cancer.
Again with the benefits of hindsight the cocodamol and anti-spasmodics I was prescribed really didn't help. The painkillers were beginning to spin me out and the Mebeverine would leave me feeling gassy and bloated. Not helping when the cocodamol were bringing on the constipation.

Why was my mind wandering and letting the anxieties develop? Work was with enjoyable people but really wasn't challenging, especially after coming out of being mentally challenged in an under-grad then post-grad environment. I was spending less time able to mentally commit to the job in hand and more time negatively daydreaming. Even down to thinking that colleagues were going next door to chat with the boss and laughing at my work.

I had an horrendous weekend away with friends on the motorbike up on North Wales (The Dragon Rally) where due to the pressures of having to organise 14 people, devise the route and then lead the route as well as not eating well (I'm always hungry) meant that when we got to North Wales I was in bits and had to call NHS direct as I was convinced I was going to die. Friends got me through that night (thanks Al, I still remember you coming to find me after I wasn't in the bunkhouse and you were convinced I'd gone feral and gone off to die under a bush and I'd just nipped for a piss.)

When the appointment for the colonoscopy came up 5 months after my GP visit imagine my surprise when all that was carried out was a sigmoidoscopy. Now I was even more stressed out. Two more months passed until the colonoscopy and that came back clear. No bowel cancer then. No nothing really apart from some wild rice that had escaped the pre-scopy clear out...

As the year came to an end there was a glimmer of hope; I had a counselling assessment. By this time I had dropped in weight from 16 1/2 stone to 14 stone through not really having any appetite and also trying to cut various things out; lactose, gluten, alcohol from my diet.

By the time I saw the counsellor I had decided to do something positive with the weight loss and got the bike I'd bought on cyclescheme out and began riding again. The last time I'd ridden was back in my early 20s and I used to cycle a lot so was expecting to jump back on again and be flying. The reality was that within 400yards I was panting and aching. There was a marker point 2 miles from my house and so I began cycling there and back. It would make me feel sick through exertion and I would have to take a seasickness pill once home on occasion to stop feeling so sick. Most times I went out I would get overtaken by an old fellow on his commute home going up a hill. I could make it halfway up but would then be off and walking. I was determined to make it up the hill (I did eventually).

The counsellor was very good. We talked about the family history of depression and my concerns that I was going to follow that route. After many questions I was told that I wasn't depressed, but was anxious. Whilst no one likes to find out there is something wrong with them, it was a relief to have it quantified.

The counselling carried on and so did the cycling. Soon I was up to 8 miles, then 15 miles. The feeling of achievement was amazing and real. The evenings I went cycling after work I slept so much better. The counselling stopped but the cycling didn't. Along with swimming once a week I was beginning to get fitter. My weight had levelled off at a bit under 14 stone (I've never been that bothered by my weight.) More miles were being ridden and I was determined to do 25 miles. Which I did, and then did more times.

I still couldn't deal with being away though and again I abandoned a Dragon Rally and rode 4 hours back through the cold February night getting home with only vapours in the tank after every petrol station on the A470 was shut. Of course they were shut as I left the North at 10pm and it was 2am by the time I arrived home. Anyone sensible was asleep.

Still on the cocodamol and likely not doing well with the effects.

2011 also saw a change of employment after taking redundancy from my old job as the place was going to the dogs and a new opportunity had arisen. That first day I can still remember having to fight every urge my body had to run away and instead stay there and do the day. It took a couple of weeks before those feelings had settled, but I was glad I stuck at them and the job. More cycling, swimming and again the more I exercised the better sleep I had and the more I was able to concentrate in work.

Into 2012 and my weight was slowly dropping just down to exercise. It wasn't something I was aiming to achieve but it was noticeable that I kept needing smaller shirts and trousers, as well as smaller shoes! 2012 was a good year and after completing a ride from London to Paris with friends for a holiday I was in good enough form to join a local cycling club. I even treated myself to a new bike, the Burls of Doom!

2013 was an injury fest with a broken finger, broken bike and knackered AC joint, writing off the car and breaking 3 ribs and cracking my pelvis and finally doing a SLAP lesion, breaking another rib and a segment of my collarbone to round the year out. The kicker here was the medication (again) with me being prescribed Tramadol to deal with the pain from the car crash and continuing that to deal with the pain from the bike crash. 3 1/2 months of Tramadol was not a good place to be and along with massive headaches I was sleeping just an hour and a half a night due to shaking, heart palpitations (MIND has excellent information on panic attacks, if you need to explain to a close one what is going on), being convinced I had a brain bleed (a CT scan and neurologist ruled otherwise) most of which I realised were down to the Tramadol side effects. I began to cut them down and after almost 4 weeks the crazy feelings had dissipated. The only thing remaining was the massive headaches. Another GP appointment and a small dose (10mg) of Amitriptyline was prescribed to relax my nerves and muscles. Within a week the headaches had ceased and I was able to sleep again. I didn't like the morning after grogginess of the Ami though and ended up quartering the tablets and only taking the miniscule amount.

I had been sent to see a counsellor again and this one was different to the previous. The session began with all the history being dragged up, not just from the last time I had been there but from my youth. This wasn't working. These were all mental issues that I had dealt with and put to bed. I told the counsellor this and we moved on. Another appointment was made, which the counsellor then cancelled on the morning. For those of you who have been lucky enough not to have needed counselling there is an agreement that as a patient you won't cancel within 24hours of appointments. I remarked that this clearly didn't apply to counsellors. I was never called back to make another appointment. Which was fine as I had decided that I wasn't going back. I was prescribed twice books on Cognitive Behavioural Therapy but both times I found them to be massively patronising and at such a dumbed down level to not be of use.

I know that it is my head that makes me feel like this, that makes me build worse case scenarios but it's that I struggle with getting beat. I do know as well that physical exertion either through exercise or work helps massively. My anxieties are fear based, fear of something holding me back or preventing me from doing something with my life. To tackle these immediately provokes a lethargy in action from me and I find it a huge effort to do what is needed to resolve the fear. I know that if I stick at it I will beat this but I am my own worst enemy. I still have bad nights; some spices in food set me off as do certain alcoholic drinks but I can get through it. I can talk about what is getting to me with my friends and I can view it with humour; it's always the monkey on my back. I am open about the issues I have, perhaps too open sometimes but hey my anxiety isn't visible and sometimes I need to explain a little.

Roughstuff Reconnaissance

2014-05-17T19:54:00.002+01:00

I've got an itch to organise a decent old-fashioned Roughstuff Ride with the club. I've been slowly piecing together little sections I know of and poring over OS maps to find other bits. Today was a chance to find out how parts of it might join up, and what a glorious day it was.
I don't believe there's such a thing as lost when you've got a map with you, you are momentarily misplaced shall we say. I had the advantage of a decent visible landmark in the form of the Sugarloaf to aim for which was useful as I got a little misplaced by the NCN 42 signs.-

My bike for the day was my usual road bike, still on open tubs and running 39/53 chainrings. I did come to regret not changing to the compact.
From that point on there was some more dithering, sorry, ascertaining direction and after a rude fat lady in her Rover tried to force me off the pavement where I was mapchecking I as away again thinking I'd head off course a little to get a swift half only to find that the pub was shut. Gutted. Oh well, onwards.

The road became a section I knew from motorbike travels and so I was expecting a climb. Even though you know it's coming, it's still a bit of a wrench. This one is worth it though as it puts you at the start of a short off-road descent leading to a ford.
The beginning-

Those rocks are big enough to trouble a road bike so after avoiding going over the bars I walked a short section before hopping back on for the smooth run down to the ford-

and across the ford I went rather than trying to stop on the greasy concrete bed-

Lovely. From there it was just a 20 mile ride home.
Granted it's not going to be a proper roughstuff ride as there will be large sections of road joining it all together, but it will be the road less travelled.

Hiut Denim open day

2014-05-03T11:12:00.000+01:00

This time yesterday I'd just ridden through some fabulous countryside in the warming morning and arrived outside an innocuous Unit 2 on an industrial estate just outside the coastal town of Cardigan.
A good number of people milled about outside with the open space behind a roller door enticing and welcoming us. This is the manufacturing home of Hiut Denim. There are many explanations of the brand elsewhere so to me this is the company that makes the best jeans I have found, makes them 110 miles from my house, stands by their products and knows how to make the small be big.
"Come and get a tea or coffee" sounded out from inside the building, and in we went.

The day was a great relaxed affair, we queued for coffee and tea, patiently handed out by whomever was by the machine (thanks Steph) then David ran through what was going to happen. The first of the things was Norman talking about pattern making and how to be efficient at it followed by Claudio (more later) demonstrating the cutting of the denim.

Onto the Grandmasters; the ladies who with great charm had fielded the tens of staring faces and accompanying questions from our attendance. I'm sure there are many synonyms for describing what these ladies do, and how they do it but to be blunt they're bloody good at making jeans. That's Jean by the way, she made my jeans. She's lovely. Elin (2nd right) provided us with a blow by blow narration of the process and kept us in order

Here is one of the machines which does one of the many processes that go into making the jeans. Amanda is just out of shot here working on sewing the yoke into the jeans. Two things occur on this machine as firstly the denim is folded and then sewn. Amanda has to get things lined up correctly, modulate the speed of the stitch and then snip the free off. All I could focus on was the thread oscillating as I was astounded by the skill involved.

Paul gave us a demonstration on how the jeans were repaired when we, the customers had holed them, torn them or just plain worn them and then it was lunch. Still reeling we descended on the delicious empanadas, falafels and custard tarts. None of which are Cardigan native I believe but frankly I've not tasted a nicer tart or empanada so couldn't care less.
There was limited clearance stock to be purchased if we so wished and I took fancy of a pair of raw organic jeans and decided they'd make nice shorts for summer so planned to cut them off once home. Word of this spread (thanks for dobbing me in, Emma) and Claudio volunteered to do them properly. After a quick measure they were marked up, checked and cut

then I had some shorts. Pictures of my pasty white legs will not be shown, no worry there.
Clare handed out maps and we wandered down to the Theatr Mwldan for some outstanding live music from a 14 year old lass (edit to add, her name is Hana Evans ) followed by David describing the plans ahead for the company. Ladies, your time is coming with stretch denim. Other plans were presented and the ambition of the company is both measured and also bounding.
It was a great pleasure to meet the people who made my jeans, other customers and in total a great quality company with real full vision of making small big. The lure of the pub for discussions was strong, but the lure of the evening road back was stronger.

Mini Milestones

2014-04-24T21:39:00.002+01:00

The mighty Princess Sugar Sprinkles ticked over 38,000 miles in my care yesterday.
That's the same distance as Rick Mereki travelled in 44 days,
The same distance as this lovely Datsun 240z has covered in it's life so far, and about 1 and a half times around the Earth.
Thanks my lovely.

Beach holiday in Iceland

2014-04-15T21:35:00.000+01:00

Away for just a few nights but what a great place to visit.
Despite having the smallest hire car in the whole country (shown here for perspective against the normal Icelandic vehicle)

we did quite a bit of driving and managed not to get blown off the road in gales, nor crash on the snow. Studded winter tyres are fantastic.
This is just a short post with a few pictures of somewhere I really want to go back to, Vik i Myrdal on the South coast. None of these have been altered other than being resized.

With the Atlantic raging in the 36 mph winds blowing on shore it was a very bleak place but yet somehow incredibly enticing.
I want to go back.

The old broom...

2014-03-18T13:05:00.000+00:00

With injuries putting paid to plans of buying a Time Trial (TT) specific frame for the upcoming season, I had a think about how best to approach things. After some quizzical moments (and a limited stable) it came to me; surely the most suitable bike was the cyclocross bike. It ticks the majority of boxes in that it's stiff, light, has a short top tube. Granted it's not the most aerodynamic of frames but hey, my body position will be doing more against that than the frame, see a study here.
So, to the exciting bit, the picture.

There's still some work to be done with saddle position and possibly stem length but I'm excited. Last years results will be hard to top for improvement as I took my PB down by 4 minutes, but it was all on a road bike with no aero at all.

Three different streetlights

2014-03-12T21:20:00.000+00:00

Foggy this way tonight. Walking back from the village the streetlights were casting pools and it wasn't until I looked at the photos here at home I realised they were all different colours.

Beginnings

2014-03-01T17:12:00.003+00:00

Finally I've pulled the finger out and can move it. Allegorically.
Working with a friend we cleared some fallen branches and after leaving them over night for a delicious curry (thanks mate) and cake (thanks mate's wife) it was time to do something useful with them.

Trousers, boots, mitts and head protection donned (don't fuck with something that can go through you like a knife through butter) and the chainsaw fired up.
Gadingadingadinga.
After I'd left a wheelbarrow full of sawdust I also had a pile of logs to arrange into something less avantgarde.
They're now all piled neatly in the beginnings of a long term investment.

After the water recedes 32:18

2014-02-20T21:24:00.000+00:00

I took advantage of a break in the sky to explore some trails.
Some new, some done before, some too full of water.

Good ride out.

F4 4/4 Final part of my #festive500

2014-01-04T17:49:00.000+00:00

Falling and failing.
But let's begin with frosty.
In fact this wasn't planned to be the final ride. This was to be the middle kicker to take me towards the 300km mark and then with 2 days to follow I had two metric century rides planned.
It had been a cold and clear night, with frost patterns lying thick on the cars parked along the roads. I really like the frosty kiss on paintwork; any vehicle is turned into an icy tribute to dazzle camouflage.
Layering up I set off to the Sunday club meeting point and waited until a lonely figure came along the road.

So, just the two of us today then. Myself and a new lad, Liam.
a quick chinwag and we were off. Given the freshness of the day I thought we would press on to a cafe a close 20 miles away, then see how we felt after that and decide the rest of the route following.
Passing through Usk and along the Llansoy gliding club straight there were a few patches of icy puddles dotted along the road. Liam and I discussed the merits of mountain bike tyres versus road tyres on ice and slush, and I half wished I had come out on the cyclocross bike. Only half wished, mind. I enjoyed the mudguards and the absence of a wet arse on the road bike.
Through Raglan and the sun was kissing us with some warmth as we headed towards Mitchel Troy and the cafe a little bit along.
Coming down towards Skew Bridge we remarked how this side of the (main) road had seen more sun and was less icy.
Oh the irony.
I was a good few lengths ahead of Liam when I saw a thick rime of icy slush across the road.
Flagging the danger to him with my right hand I began braking with the back brake. The further I travelled the more ice I could see.
There was no chance I was going to touch the front brake, there lay a guaranteed crash.
The problem now was that I had been travelling at a reasonable pace; that section is downhill and we had been rolling along at a good lick to begin with.
With a car coming the other way I couldn't head across the line to what appeared to be only wet road.
I made the decision to head towards the grass verge, in the hope I would get better purchase as I got closer to it.
I never made it that far.
Liam said afterwards that the bike fishtailed suddenly and then I went down.
That sounds about right.
With the bike sliding out to my right I went down hard on my left side.
Head, shoulder, back, hips, then a roll and head, shoulder and arm on my right side.
The speed at which it happened was what shocked me the most. In comparison to the Mallorcan crash where it all seemed slow and somewhat bouncy, this was a vivid slam of body into unyielding road.
Bang, bang, bang and stop.
I lay there staring up at the underside of the bridge.
There is a series of checks that you go through after a crash, motorcyclists do it, and I'm pretty cure cyclists do it.
You get your breath back and then check the vitals. Can I wiggle my toes? Can I wiggle my hands? Can I see? Breathe? Hear?
It's a brief pause from the situation and after that is when, for me at least, the pain begins.
Lying there under that bridge this felt bad. I'd normally be quick to try and move from where I lay but for what seemed like minutes I lay there trying to get some composure.
With my feet and legs onto the kerb and the rest of me perpendicular into the road I was struggling.
A motorist had stopped and after checking whether we wanted him to stay, proffered the advice; 'you best get out of the road, mind you don't get run over'.
I'll try, was my response.
I did. Moving up and sitting myself against the bridge walls as a couple of ladies came down from the nearby house.

The smile hides the worries and the shock. It's always best to keep these things in check until something can be done about them.
One of the ladies, or it might have been Liam, had fetched my hat from the road. It had stopped any abrasion but I could feel I had taken a proper bang to the head. I could also feel my shoulder ached and felt crunchy. My hip and back felt hot with pain.
None of these things were good.
Liam and the two ladies took turns in talking to the ambulance control centre until a paramedic, Phil, arrived.
I'll spare the details but after ascertaining I hadn't broken my back and various other checks I was helped into the paramedic car whilst my girlfriend arrived to tidy the bike up.
I was and am so grateful to those two ladies, and Liam whilst I waited. It's hard to convey that when you're the centre of attention as it were. Thank you.
The afternoon was spent in A&E with various checks, X-rays and pills administered.
With my shoulder too swollen to truthfully diagnose, and with my back and hip given the all clear I was allowed out. It wasn't that I wanted to leave, and was in two minds when the staff nurse said she wanted to keep me in overnight, but my friends Jason and his clubmate, Sian had come down to race in the Velodrome that evening and I was desperate to find a positive in the day.
Fast forward several hours, easy if you're on tramadol, and we are down the Newport Velodrome getting ready to watch Jason in his first race.

With the air still thick of Derney bike exhaust fumes they set off. I couldn't tell you what race it was, and I certainly can't remember now.
After settling in and finding a programme for the evening it began to get exciting. The meet had brought out a whole range of riders; from league riders through to National and Olympic big guns.
Jason was next up in a mens Keirin heat. The Derney bike thrumming around and bringing smoke, noise and speed to the wooden boards. Jason got his power on but it wasn't to be.

As the night rolled on there was more and more racing. Sweat, effort and speed from all who entered the wooden boards.
Sian had a great final ride in the ladies Keirin. Sat on the wheel of the Derney with Katie Archibald and Dani King behind. How many times would she get a chance to ride with that calibre of rider. She finished truly empty. Her face showing a mix of emotions, from joy and excitement through to dismay. But what an experience.

With time called on the meet the assembled riders dispatched themselves and kit out of the velodrome, and the boards settled down once again.

I didn't make my target of 500km. I failed to complete. I experienced pain and suffering which I've not had before on the bike, or as a result of it.
Next year, maybe.

F4 3/4 #festive500

2014-01-03T15:51:00.000+00:00

This should probably have been titled F5, due to the additional Friend who tagged along with me. As Boxing Day dawned cold and fresh I was running somewhat behind in meeting my friend Pete for another ride. This meant my early journey distance was curtailed as I took a shorter route to Pete's folks' house. Trying to look at the positives I was presented with a beautiful panorama of frosty fog washing down the Usk valley as I headed towards Abergavenny.

Ah it was good to breathe in the freshness.
Time was tighter today as I had to be back by 1 to get ready for an afternoon stroll through the woods with some friends from the village. After being waved through a barriered off road into Abergavenny and some Christmassy wellwishing at Pete's we were on out way. First distraction was a troupe of lovely riding ladies.

Yes, I liked the spotty horse the most too. Passing courteously it was good to have company with Pete along and we soon began to chat. I'm quite happy to cycle alone, and I find it sometimes meditative in experience. I also really enjoy having someone along whose riding I trust and whose conversation I can relate to. Pete is one of those people.
With some friendly banter we carry on along the roads. Pete also provides me with a bit of information on the bridge we cross as I pause to add more water to the river below.

I had never known it was referred to as the 'Army Bridge', thanks Pete.
Our route for today had been defined by me and as such I made a tiny mental route planning faux pas and forgot that the Heads of the Valleys road through Clydach Gorge actually was one large climb. I had chosen this route instead of going around slightly further and up Llangattock Mountain under the mistaken thought there was no real climb.
Whoops.
With Pete twiddling off ahead I had some time to admire the beautiful waterfalls either side of the road, and then the industrial remnants still standing from this heritage area.

A jogger and his partner were carrying out hilly intervals underneath the pipework atop the brick arches.
I arrived at the false flat to find Pete gently steaming and enjoying a drink. He remounted and tucked in behind as we headed towards Blaenavon. There was snow and frost appearing as we got closer to the final summit.

Snow on the hills and frost on Pete's sweaty back as the wind nipped at us.

At the crest we paused to take on some jelly baby based vittles and admire the landscape.
I really love this part of the world, so empty yet so recently full of huge industry.

Time and a cold wind wait for no man though and we pressed on downwards. Pete had been feeling the fresh wind and I grabbed some waste cardboard from outside a shop for him to stuff down his top in Blaenavon town. The old ways work well.
The other great thing about heading back this route is that it's all downhill. Well mostly, the little bits that aren't don't really merit a mention.
The damp roads kicked up spray as we sped through the valley, past Cwmavon with the old architecture of the mill, through Abersychan with life beginning to bustle around as the morning approached lunchtime. Then finishing off at home for a coffee and chat.
Good rides.

F4 2/4 #festive500

2014-01-03T14:42:00.000+00:00

After a tasty full Christmas lunch the clock was ticking and I had yet to ride back home. I'd like to think the lycra was no snugger despite the food, but I'd be mistaken. The weather was certainly smiling on me a little more though, with an absence of rain cheering the skies.
Cheering me up was the knowledge that the first 16 miles were going to pretty much be downhill, which is never a bad thing. After a short climb past the racecourse and through St Arvans I was on a roll back alongside the Wye.
Tintern Abbey is always photogenic and Christmas Day was no exception.

I once had a dream about getting married there and it flooding but it was all ok as the organ was inflatable.
I digress.
The water levels of the Wye had dropped a few feet though the water was still a murky silted brown as it washed along. I washed along beside it and it felt like the miles were flying by compared to the previous days final slog. Over the bridge again at Bigsweir and a nod up the hill to my friends at Cinderhill Farm up in St Briavels, no stopping in for tea and cake today sadly. I doubt there was room to fit it in alongside the turkey and pudding.
The roads had been very quiet and I had almost seen as many cyclists out as cars as I came towards Monmouth. The High Street was deserted save for a few people ambling out, no doubt walking off the lunch.

The skies were darkening now as the evening started to creep in and the decorative lights were providing illumination as I rolled down the street.
Out of Monmouth and back towards Raglan and there is a lovely old rail bridge, incongruous in the countryside, that sits there as an empty reminder of times past.

Where the bridge would have crossed the Wye it has been demolished so there is just the stone monument in the fields as a visual reference.
The run back from Raglan always seems to be a nice stretch. It's a mix of ups and downs with nothing too taxing, yet plenty to absorb. If the wind is in the right direction as you head past Llansoy it takes all the sounds away so it feels as though you are riding in complete silence, with only visual cues to your motion. Sadly today was not one of those days and instead it was just another piece of road.
Fully enveloped by evening I rode into Usk. I was beginning to wonder what would be for tea. Leftovers perhaps?
The decorative lighting was still up and shining brightly in the Twyn Square.

With a surprising spring in my legs Usk was passed through and over the bridge the eponymous river had also dropped in level. The biggest surprise though came as I arrived into my home village. There were several dark houses, one of which had the alarm loudly going off. I diverted to the Police house to let them know, but there was no answer behind the darkened door. Climbing the hill towards my road little differences made themselves known. The streetlights weren't on, highlighted by the apparent brightness of car headlights. Houses were slumped in darkness with the occasional bluey white glow of a screen or tree lights. On the final ride into my road there were no lights at all.
Aha, the penny finally dropped; a power cut.
Shame really as I needed a shower!
After half an hour of sorting out and lighting oil lamps and candles there was a clunk and the power came back on.
For five minutes.
Then back off.
Then back on and stayed on. Brilliant, I could shower and rest.

Floods, family, falls and failing; my #festive500 1/4

2014-01-02T11:51:00.000+00:00

500 kilometers in 7 days, the challenge laid down by Rapha in their Festive 500 2013.
After jotting down some route plans in my head and then transferring to paper to check their accuracy it all seemed feasible. Thanks to a slipped disc that had been getting slowly worse throughout the year my riding had been tailing off and a cold and damp 100km the Sunday before had left me under no illusions that this would be hard, but I could do it.
The weather seemed to have other plans as the rains came, and came and the came some more. By the time I was looking to set off on Christmas Eve there were reports of roads closed and more flooding to come despite the now blue skies. I wasn't even sure if I'd be able to make my destination for that day of Chepstow.
Sure enough the first river I crossed, the Usk, was in full flood.

But the road was clear and so was the sky.
On towards Raglan and with the wind picking up a little I noticed that the clear blue sky was being tainted by some dark clouds. This definitely wasn't on the plan.

I wondered if I my course would pass them by or if they would catch me. As I came towards Monmouth it was quite clear that yes, they were going to catch me. Discretion before valour and all that as I sought out a cafe to stop in to see the rain out.
It seemed as though the whole population of Monmouth High Street had the same plan as within moments of joining a queue for a brew there were more people queuing than already seated.
Sure enough though I got my coffee and Welsh cake.

The rain came and went and I was back out on the roads.
The A466 is a lovely road; it meanders as the River Wye does along the valley, snaking from one side to the other as it jumps between England and Wales. It also runs on a slight incline, and today I was going up it for the next 16 miles. The Wye too had been affected by the rains and although not flooding as heavily as it had in the past it was definitely pushing up.

I slowed at one point as I rode alongside to see the rough speed of the river. Somewhere around 15mph was my guess estimate and certainly fast enough that I wouldn't wish to paddle in it.
On over the bridge at Bigsweir and into the long, long climb to my destination of Chepstow. I was quietly congratulating myself at having avoided most of the rain and keeping dry on what was turning out to be a cold fresh day as I came through Tintern. With the light beginning to fade and a chill creeping into the wind I was glad I wasn't damp. I could see the road ahead had a good flow of water across it and noticed the sound of a car coming up from behind.
Oh they would wait, surely.
No, as I went through the flood, so did they overtake me and I was soaked from tip to toe.
Bollocks.
Best pick up the tempo then to generate some warmth. Out of the saddle on the last few long uphills that aren't actually very steep but just seem to drag on and on as the road winds around the cliff edges and woodlands. Thankfully it was soon downhill to St Arvans which meant not far at all from the destination. Whipping past the Racecourse as the sun was starting to drop below the hills casting long shadows as it went, I was as near as damn it done for the first day.

Round 8 Welsh CX, Pembrey

2013-11-24T20:08:00.001+00:00

A new course for me, and after a couple of hours driving we finally made it there. I'm convinced there is a quicker way, but we followed the signs anyway.
Pembrey holds fond memories for me as I used to holiday there as a child. That must be over two decades ago though. Oof.
A couple of pictures, and if it works, a video...

I had a cracking back and forth with the chap from Gower Riders in the burghundy, white and blue for most of the race.

Heading along the crest.

Video of the same, though probably a lap later.
Thanks to the organisers, West Wales Cycle Racing

Field humour

2013-11-23T17:20:00.002+00:00

Spotted whilst on this morning's frosty pedal.

I did smile.

Latest film.

2013-11-18T19:47:00.000+00:00

Second out of date film to be shot. A few of my favourites from it.