live-cycle

So Helen Skelton, the Blue Peter presenter, has set off on a 500-mile ride to the South Pole. On a special bike. Made for riding on snow. (What else would you expect?) I’ve done a few crazy rides in my short lifetime, but certainly nothing in this league. Mainly because I hate the cold. If it was me riding across ice and snow to the bottom of the world, it wouldn’t be Blue Peter I was presenting, it would be Blue Somethingelse.

Of course, although it is summer time at the South Pole right now, it’s not quite T-shirt and shorts weather. Unless you’re really nuts. The average temperature at this time of year is a balmy -25C. But there is one big advantage to a ride during the summer months – you don’t need lights, because it is daytime all day long. If you get what I mean.
Although I hate the cold, I’m not a total wimp – I’ve ridden in snow more times than I can remember – to work, training for the Cape Epic, and even just because it’s there. And it really is fun, especially when you know that, half an hour after finishing, you will be in a hot bath with a big mug of steaming tea in your mitt. But when you know that at the end of your long, sweaty cycling day your only shelter is the tent that is somewhere on the sledge that you’re towing (you DID pack the tent, didn’t you), it’s a totally different story. And when it comes to the call of nature … well, I don’t even want to go there.
So all I can say, Helen, is good luck. This challenge is certainly one that I wouldn’t want to take up. But a run across the Namib desert … hmm, now there’s a thought.

It’s strange, isnt’ it? The moment you start to feel a little self-satisfied, perhaps even smug, you get brought down to earth with such a bump that you can’t ever imagine how you started out with those wonderful feelings.
For me, Wednesday evening was such a time. All was good with the world as I walked down Blackfriars Road towards the Transport for London building. I was feeling perhaps just a little self-satisfied because I was on my way to a meeting with SkyRide and British Cycling. It was a session for ride leaders and British Cycling officials to look back on the past SkyRide season, and to look at how it can be improved in future years.
I stopped at the traffic lights on Southwark Road. It was nearly 6.30, dark already, and everywhere was filled with commuters – cars, pedestrians, cyclists – trying to get home as quickly as possible. I waited for the lights to change, and as they went green I stepped off the pavement. I never knew that a cyclist had come round the corner, through the red lights, until I felt him brush past my coat and the chap next to me said “Whoa”. How he missed us, I have no idea.
Usually I support cyclists and cycling unfailingly, but suddenly I was on the other side, and now I know what it’s like. I had no contradictory feelings: I just wished that I’d had a baseball bat so that I could vent my feelings on the cyclist and his unlit machine.
I know that there are laws in place to deal with this type of offence (jumping the red lights, that is, not the baseball bat thing), and I know they are difficult to enforce. Pedestrians need to know they have the protection of the law, and so do cyclists (have you ever seen a motorist reprimanded for encroaching on an advanced stopping area, or for driving or parking in a cycle lane?)
But if cyclists (and I know – I hope – that this is the minority) cannot show proper consideration for other road users, they can’t expect to be respected in return. If we hope to survive and co-exist in the urban jungle, that is a law we have to learn quickly, and pass on to others. Preferably without the need for a baseball bat.

Heard today, and I have to pass it on: “You know you’ve had enough coffee when you can thread a sewing machine when it’s running.”

… or maybe you just think you can buck the trend!!!

Edinburgh-Manchester by tandem: the final word

So,who should have the final word about our long ride? Me? or Chich? or the spouses who gave us unstinting support while we moaned and groaned about our collective aches and pains? Well, it’s none of the above. It seems that The Beast – our trusty steed – has had the final word. Yesterday, the day after finishing our ride, I was collecting my bits and pieces off the tandem before heading back home. One of these bits was my saddle.

A bit of The Beast - perhaps we were the last straw ...

I removed the front seatpost (and rear handlebars) and took off my saddle, replacing it with the original. I then put the seatpost back, but it would not go into the tubing. Well, if you have a look at the pictures on the right, you will see why.

Suddenly I am forced the wonder whether it was divine intervention that caused our little campervan miShap at the top of Shap (altitude: 1,400ft). Can you imagine riding down from that altitude at speed and hitting one of the many potholes that make up the A6? No doubt Chich and I would have parted company in a rather unexpected manner.

And now, the final wordplay: of all the silly things that go through the mind while churning out the miles, the silliest that occurred to me is this: O TANDEM is an anagram of ED TO MAN. (geddit? EDinburgh TO MANchester).

Edinburgh-Manchester tandem ride: the final day

The Holy one and the Rood one, at their final destination

Well, that’s it, done and dusted, in a manner of speaking. We left Holyrood House, Edinburgh, on Monday, and arrived at Holy Rood Church, Manchester, this afternoon to a rousing reception. What happened in between, well you don’t want to know. At least, you don’t NEED to know. Oh, you do? Really?

Well, it went something like this. We set off from Edinburgh and quickly found ourselves riding into the teeth of the remains of Hurricane Katia. It might no longer have been a hurricane, but it wasn’t far from it. I have since learnt that Monday’s stage of the Tour of Britain was cancelled, so while Cavendish and Co wimped out, we soldiered on for as long as we could, until finally we were blown halfway back to where we came from. That was day one, a mere 27 miles instead of 40 that I had hoped for.

Day two was a little better, but still tough weatherwise. We lost half a day’s riding just getting back to where we should have been, so our 34 miles was some way short. Day three was the big day: we covered a full 60 miles, but our mishap with the campervan forced us, for security and logistical reasons, to decamp back to Manchester for the night.

And so we come to today, the final day, and what were we to do? We knew we would never catch up on all the miles we needed to put in to complete the distance, but at least a 30 mile out-and-back ride brought us pedalling into Swinton at the appointed time, to be welcomed by the reception committee.

We cycled 150 miles in all, 30 short of the quickest route from Edinburgh to Manchester and 60 short of what we had planned. Some of those miles were without doubt the hardest I have ever ridden in all my years. But I am convinced that, had the weather been clement, we would had achieved our goal. So, even if we didn’t pedal all the way from A to B (well, from Ed to Man) I still feel that, by my slightly immoral reasoning, we achieved a moral victory, and that’s good enough for me. And, of course, we  shouldn’t forget that the biggest achievement is that we did it for a good cause.

Edinburgh-Manchester tandem ride: day 3

Tonight you get the condensed version. Set out from Langholm in sunshine, hit the rain as we rode through Southern Scotland, rain stopped the moment we crossed into England, and eventually it warmed up as we knocked up the miles. After a short unplanned detour in Penrith we got back on track and toiled all the way to Shap, finishing the day with 60 miles under the belt – the type of distance I had been hoping for on the previous two days. Still, I don’t think we’ve done too badly, considering that we have probably lost a full day’s riding, which could have added another 60 to the total.

The only downer came at the end of the day, when we reversed the campervan into a sign, smashing the rear window and the bike rack. The least said the better, not just because I am tired. G’night.

Edinburgh-Manchester tandem ride: day 2

Sheepishly, gingerly, I looked out this morning to see if she had gone. Of course, she hadn’t, Katia was just hiding, sulking, waiting for us to come out to play, to spoil our fun with another tantrum. Typical bloody …

Well, we spent the night back in Edinburgh, right where we had started. After a hearty breakfast at the niece’s flat, and addressing some technical issues (new saddle and riding position for me, spd pedals for Chich, new front brake blocks) we drove to Innerleithen, the spot where we would have packed it in for the day, had we ever got there.  We drove over the beautiful pass that yesterday drove us back on ourselves. Glorious sun shining down on the heather, all shades of purple and green, desolate rolling hills carved up by gushing, rushing  burns. As we had a quick lunch in Innerleithen it began to rain. Again.

And so on two wheels Chich and I set off for Eskdalemuir (a town with no pub, I was later to discover). The ride was glorious, the weather was not. Once again, the uphills were slow, but it was on the downhills that gravity forgot its function, and we found our progress halted where normally we would have been dragged along by its force. Whoever heard of pedalling downhill. And then we were pulled this way and that, never knowing which way we would be tugged, twice extending our trip with an excursion across the grass verge. And the rain came too, in icy squalls. Katia hadn’t said her last to us. She was still harping and carping about how we had ignored her, but slowly her fury was waning, turning into a constant nagging that we could almost ignore.

We could not ignore the beauty of the countryside that we passed through, unheard-of places like Foulbog and The Wiss, and our last 15 miles to Eskdalemuir were along the fines roads that a cyclist could hope for, if you manage to avoid the gigantic logging lorries that chuntered by.

And at six o’clock, cold, wet, bedraggled, we reached our destination, to be rescued by our womenfolk and transported to hot shower and cold beer at a B&B in Longholme. After such a day, we surely deserve a little pampering, don’t we?

Edinburgh-Manchester tandem ride: day 1

Woke up this morning to sunshine on Arthur’s Seat (cover up, man, have you no pride). To the north, across the Forth, the dark clouds that had brought overnight rain were disappearing towards Iceland, or wherever is the heavenly graveyard of rainclouds. Across the city of Edinbrugh there is a fantastic rainbow. And not a sign of Katia. Predictable, I suppose, for such a flighty female to be late.

And finally they are on their way. Katia, take note of that sunshine

And so we set off without her, Chich and I. We left Holy Rood House a little after ten o’clock, waved off by our retinue of three, to wobble our way unsteadily through the outskirts of Edinburgh and our way south.
We reached Gorebridge in reasonable time – a town you would want to pass through only once. Soon after we stopped at a crossroads to check the map, take sustenance (bananas) and don our rain jackets because it was beginning to drizzle.
We passed through Middleton without even knowing it, the town is so small, and our next stop, 13 miles down the road, was Innerleithen.

Between us and Innerleithen was nothing but open road with no cover, nowhere to hide, and a climb that went to the other side of nowhere. It was here that Katia caught up with us. And she wasn’t pleased, to put it mildly. Hell hath no fury, and all that. And we caught the full  force of her fury. There she was, right in our faces, a gale of tongue-lashing. Suddenly we had to pedal on the downhills just to keep moving. She showed us no mercy. And finally, on the long uphill without end, we were forced to push. We pushed for more than two miles, fighting into the teeth of a gale, lashed by Katia’s ire.

Eventually we realised that, even when we reached the next downhill, we wouldn’t be able to ride. The prospect of pushing a further eleven miles was too much. And so we turned the beast around, mounted, and headed back for anywhere that would provide shelter from Katia. Before we knew it we hit 40mph on the downhill, Katia hot on our heels. On the flat, without pedalling, we cruised along at almost 30. It had been well over two hours since we had left Gorebridge, it took us just fifteen minutes to return. There after much searching we found the only pub in town, where they kindly fed and watered us while we dripped on there clean floor and awaited rescue by our womenfolk. And so, tonight, we will sleep in Edinburgh again.
One thought strkes me as I write this – it is great to see a rainbow, all the colours of the spectrum, all the beauty. But while you can see the end of the rainbow, you can never reach it. Let’s hope that’s not prophetic.

Edinburgh-Manchester tandem ride: the prologue
Here we are, in Edinburgh at last. The campervan is unloaded and all our paraphernalia, including tandem and spare bike, has been carried up three flights of tenement steps to my niece Clare’s flat. Inside the kitchen is filled with the smell of roasting lamb and potatoes. Martin, Clare’s other half, clearly knows that we need to keep up our energy, and our spirits – a great welcome after a long, hard drive from Kent.

As we stare out of the kitchen window through the jungle of chilli and tomato plants we can just about make out Arthur’s Seat and the Palace of Holy Rood, half a mile away, the starting point of our ride. The rain has cleared, but it is still windy. Our drive here up the M6 has been through pouring rain and spray. This, apparently, is just the appetiser. Tomorrow, at about the time we are due set to head off  southward, hurricane Katia promises to arrrive in the region, threatrening strong winds and heavy rain. All we can do is wait and see what she does in the morning. Trust a woman to throw a spanner in our plans!
Well, you’ll just have to watch this space.

Preparing for a ride is never simple. Too often I tell my other half that I’m going for a ride and, 45 minutes later, as she sees me setting off she exclaims: “Are you back already?” If you ride regularly, you know the ins and outs involved: planning routes, finding clothing that’s clean (well, not too smelly) and appropriate for the weather (four seasons), checking the bike, pumping tyres, oiling chains, filling bidons, finding bike computer, helmet and gloves that match. And that’s just for a two-hour Saturday ride. When planning a four-day ride, preparations increase exponentially.

So you can imagine, I’m sure, what it’s like helping to prepare for a ride with someone who lives 200 miles away and has never ridden before. My ride with Chich, my brother-in-law (see previous post) is one such. There are the obvious things to tell him: wear gloves, helmet, chamois shorts (not with boxers underneath). Use a Camelbak, or some kind of hydration system worn on the back – certainly easier for a blind person than water bottles. Also, what to drink, what to eat, and how often.

Funny little things crop up: usually on a tandem the taller person rides in front. It seems we are not the perfect match, and not because neither of us is called Daisy. Chich is taller than me, but because he is blind I am insisting that he rides at the back. Last week he went for a ride with a friend and found that his knees scraped the handlebars. He was reluctant to raise his saddle, and it wasn’t possible to raise the handlebars. After some thought I suggested that he rotate the handlebars forward slightly, and move his saddle back. That worked, fortunately.

I’m also trying to convince Chich that he should use SPDs (clip-in pedals) because I found that if you lose the pedals on a tandem it can be very difficult to get your feet back on them while your partner is pedalling. Of course, the sanest piece of advice is the one that I haven’t given him: don’t do it.