Mild Excitement

ropes

2012-01-04T12:41:00.006Z

Barry Edwards (aka Boatropes) has a good reputation on the Song of the Paddle forum. I've bought throw bags from him in the past and they're as good as any of the commercial ones (actually better than most), but what makes him stand out is the customer service.

I wasn't sure what sort of rope to get for the painters and leashes on our new boat. I just asked Barry and he came straight back with:

2x painters - 10mm is by far the most popular, yellow or orange floating doublebraid - £7.04
2x leashes - 6.3mm is the most popular, non floating polyester doublebraid, - £2.20.

So they're winging their way to me right now - and by previous experience, I won't be surprised if they arrive tomorrow morning.

That price is good as well, which always helps!

I bought half a canoe!

2011-11-25T12:34:00.002Z

Somebody posted on the NI-Wild website that Mobile Team Adventure were selling off their old canoes.

I told Evan, in case he knew anybody who was interested. Before I knew it we'd decided to try and buy one of them between us.

I was at a birthday party on the day of the sale, but Evan headed down and we got a year old 16' venture ranger. It's in nearly perfect condition, hardly used.

permission granted

2011-11-24T15:15:00.001Z

Yet another x-ray. One month on, and Mr. Swain described my range of movement as 'remarkable'
I thought the break on the x-ray looked as bad as ever, but he pointed out the grid-like pattern that apparently shows it's healing well. Back in two months for what will hopefully be my last appointment.

In the meantime, I've been given permission to resume normal activity, working up to riding the mountain bike.

cast off

2011-10-27T11:18:00.002+01:00

Got the cast off today. In my growing experience of broken arms and casts, this is the scariest time. When the pain goes you get used to wearing a cast. Bumping into things isn't a problem. Mine even occasionally got used as a tool for banging things.
now all that protection's gone and I feel very vulnerable.
I've got a big scar healing, and a wrist joint that's painful to move... A small part of me wants it back inside my protective shell.

No physio this time - I know the routine; so down to work getting everything loosened up. I even started the basic exercises while waiting for the x-ray to develop.

short arm cast

2011-10-06T09:44:00.003+01:00

Got the cast changed to a red one that stops below my elbow. The elbow's very stiff, but nice to be able to stretch again. The nurse who was putting it on was about to cover my thumb with the new cast, but I stopped her just in time.
Now it goes a little bit up the thumb and partly covers my fingers too. If anything it's more restrictive than the long one - at least I could use my hand with the purple one.

On the bright side, helicopter heroes is on BBC1 every morning!

Lough Neagh Rescue

2011-09-24T09:38:00.003+01:00

Wandering aimlessly in Junction One, the local outlet centre, I came across Lough Neagh Rescue fundraising. They're also looking for new crew members to get a new station set up in Antrim.

We've always supported life boats, and I've always wanted to get involved in a local rescue organisation.

Maybe because I've always wanted to, or maybe because my life is pretty boring at the minute, I put my name down.

It doesn't exactly fit into the 'mild excitement' mould, so i've started a separate blog for my adventures with the life boat.

a change of scenery

2011-09-15T21:34:00.003+01:00

back to the clinic for an X-ray and a change of cast.
From the white plaster back slab "sugar tong" splint to a very fetching purple one (why did I let them persuade me to use purple?) which goes all the way up past my elbow.

more surgery

2011-09-08T09:28:00.002+01:00

We finally concluded that the bone - if it's healing at all - is healing far too slowly, and it'd be quicker to try again.

Surgery today to take a bone graft from my hip, re-break my ulna and stick it back together again with a bigger plate.

Apparently I won't be having much excitement of the mild variety for a while.

they're a mad bunch

2011-06-18T12:23:00.007+01:00

Had a great weekend with the YF. We divided into two groups and the whole weekend had to get photographs of the group doing different things:

standing beside a yellow car,

standing with a sculpture,

making a human pyramid,

with a stranger holding a sign,

with a cow,

in a canoe...

They got so into it they started making up extra rules in the hopes of getting extra points.

We'd a great afternoon with the legend that is Robin Ruddock, paddling along the Bann. Carys insisted on jumping in of course.

I left my other camera in the car, so there aren't any photos on the water.

a million opportunities

2011-06-17T11:06:00.005+01:00

When I was a youngster there wasn't much opportunity to get involved in outdoor activities. So now I'm running the church youth group I'm trying to make sure they won't be able to say the same thing when they get older.

It's the YF weekend this weekend. the main point of the weekend is to answer their questions about Christianity, but every year we organise something energetic for the Saturday afternoon.

Last year we had a surfing lesson from Troggs surf school

the year before Paul Blanchard took us on the High Ropes course at Busmills education centre.

This year I tried to arrange for Ben Ruddock to take us mountain biking, but that didn't work out. Instead, we're going canoeing on the Bann with Ben's dad, Robin.

I think he's planning to take us from the Cutts to Coleraine Marina.

If I'm not careful I'll have done the whole route in sections before Martin even gets here!

Agnew's Hill

2011-06-06T21:25:00.001+01:00

The Ulster Way markers were the only indication that I was travelling on any sort of path. Agnew’s hill was a mire and when I rode I had to pick my way carefully, but with some riding and some pushing, I made it to the top, picking up the discarded crisp bags and malteser boxes from the path as I went.

Was pleased to see a few hares lolloping about near the top of the hill. Northern Ireland doesn’t have much in the way of indigenous wildlife so I always like to see what’s around. Actually the hares I saw were probably European rather than Irish since they were huge big things, nearly two feet tall to the tops of their ears.

Just over the top of Agnew’s hill I was about to start enjoying myself when I noticed the back tyre was soft. Rather than try and swap the tube out now I thought I’d pump it up and keep going. Good job I remembered to put the pump into the bag before I left!

Riding down Agnew’s hill was great fun; the north side wasn’t as boggy as the South, so I got riding the whole way down, with some steep and technical sections too. I lifted the bike over the stile at the bottom and rode a couple of hundred metres along the road to the next off-road section. This was much flatter, single-track riding across a couple of fields. The path was well marked by posts, and I could follow the track on the ground too, but it wasn’t eroded with bootprints like many of the paths in the Mournes are. Some great views down the valley towards Larne, and I was curious about the apparently man-made lake, surrounded by trees, sitting out over the hill. Sheep in abundance, and I picked up loads more litter from the path. Why would people drop their rubbish in a place like that? The “you’re keeping somebody in a job” excuse doesn’t work, and it’s not like it was biodegradable rubbish either. I don’t understand it.

Over the next road, I was looking forward to the Sallagh Hills, but the back tyre was soft again and there was a wall to give me shelter from the breeze, so I swapped out the tube, remembering to feel the inside of the tyre and make sure there were no spiky things lurking in there. The side wall of the tyre was in terrible shape. No wonder something got through it. I also had a feel around the old tube on the off-chance that, even though it was a slow puncture, I might find the leak. I got the shock of my life when I felt a four inch gash in the tube! Most of it only went part of the way through the tube, but obviously somewhere along that gash there was a tiny hole. I used two of my biggest patches and sealed it up. Trying to pump up the new tube, it refused to go up. I took it out again, and discovered a neat hole. Obviously it’d got punctured by something in my bag. Great. I patched that up and put it back in.

Riding on, the back tyre felt really unstable. It was in bad enough shape to start with, but taking it on and off the wheel so many times had made it even worse. Looking at the map I could see that the next section, round the Sallagh braes was going to need some skill and reliable hardware. Since I was on my own with no backup I decided to err on the side of caution, switched the phone to Nokia Maps and asked it to direct me to the nearest train station.

my first ever solo bivi

2011-06-05T09:22:00.001+01:00

I laid the bike down and chose a rocky outcrop to shelter me from the wind with flat grass at the base and a great view in almost every direction. I pitched the tarp using the bike’s handlebars and the rocks to get a bit of height, and rolled out the sleeping bag, sleeping mat and bivi bag in beneath.

I’d brought Iceland pasta salad to heat up for my supper, but it wasn’t that long since my dinner so I had half a bottle of Gatorade and a Frusli bar. I was glad to strip off my soaked cycling socks and replace them with the thick dry walking socks I’d brought – the only change of clothes I had with me.

Lying out there alone on the exposed hillside with the unfamiliar night sounds all around, I was a little unnerved. The flying sheep circling overhead bleating repeatedly as it came closer and closer to my camp was particularly unsettling (OK, so it probably wasn’t a sheep, but it really did sound like one) But it was a clear, still night, no rain, it wasn’t cold or windy in the shelter of the rock, and because I was on the hillside there were no midges. It was a beautiful night. With no light pollution for miles around it was bright until I fell asleep at 1130, and the first time I woke, at half past five, it was broad daylight. I thought I’d overslept.

I dozed until 7 o’clock when I stretched an arm out of my sleeping bag and set my stove onto the flat rock beside my head to boil the water for my porridge. The tarp was soaked with dew, so when I’d wakened enough I pegged it out in the early morning sunshine to dry. As the last of the mist cleared I packed up the rest of my kit between mouthfuls of porridge, and by 7:30 I was on my way again.

Ballyboley

2011-06-05T05:20:00.002+01:00

At eight o’clock on Friday evening my very understanding wife bundled a couple of the wains into the car and drove me to Ballynure with all my stuff. I saddled up and headed up the hill towards Ballyboley. I quickly caught up with a lady who was riding up the road ahead of me.

We got chatting, and she’s usually a runner but has started cycling while she recovers from an injury. As we passed the
pipe band all standing out in the middle of the road practising, I dragged it out of her that she’s run the London marathon twice, the Dublin marathon twice, and this year was the second time she’d run the Belfast marathon. Some people do the craziest things. I ran a leg of the Belfast marathon this year and I think I’ll stick to riding the bike up trackless heather-covered mountains in future.

After we parted I kept on zig-zagging up the hill, the views becoming more and more spectacular as I gained height. Past Ballyboley orange hall where one of the members was painting the door bright red, on past the school and turned off into the forest.
The trees in Ballyboley have been infected with the destructive fungal infection Phytophthora ramorum,
So the place is a mess. I took two wrong paths before I got the right one, because the Forest Service have been adding new paths to access the trees that need felled. They’ve also laid stones on the path to minimize the damage by the increase in heavy machinery, and the loose stones are more difficult to ride on than the usual forest paths.

Once I got away from the destruction near the entrance, Ballyboley is a pleasant wee forest and I enjoyed my ride through it. I didn’t venture off the path because I was just passing through, and also because of the diseased larches. Even the main path had some challenging steep climbs though, even if they weren’t overly technical.

At the other end I was expecting to see more forest paths through the trees across the road, but the path through there is something totally different. The ‘path is marked by only an occasional footprint visible in the dirt through the long grass. Then I lifted the bike up a bank and the Way led up a fire break through the trees. No risk of fire today, as the tyres sank three inches into the sodden earth. The going was tough and I pushed most of the way through, only riding when the path was dry enough. My feet were squelching through the bog as I plodded forwards, the gps on my phone reading just under 2mph. I was going to have to pick up the time somewhere else to make the 10mph average I was hoping for.

The forest suddenly ended and I lifted the bike over a high stile, and was met with the barren bogland that’s such a feature of the Antrim Hills. The floor was deep, thick sphagnum moss, thriving on the moisture-rich peat beneath. Memories washed over me because when I was a child my family spent many summers turning, stacking, drying and bagging peat very near here to keep the house warm through the winter. Although I probably complained bitterly at the time, I have good memories of those summers.

Picking my way along the slightly drier ridges, a path crossed my route. On the map it doubled back and re-crossed the Way a few hundred yards further on. The calculation of ‘extra distance’ versus ‘easily rideable’ was an easy one and I took the path. It was coming up to 9pm so I was looking for somewhere sheltered to bed down for the night, and with the wind blowing down the exposed valley, Shane’s Hill was not ideal.

Turning back off the ‘road’ which was no more than a double track path, the cattle watched my progress inquisitively. I didn’t take much notice of them, until one heifer moved aside and behind her stood a young bull! A herd of cattle can be a dangerous thing if they’re startled and you get in their way, but a single bull, if he takes a dislike to you, raises the danger to a whole different level. I shifted my direction slightly so I was walking in a straight line, my path moving away from the group, trying to look big and strong, and gentle and non-threatening all at once. He never took his eyes off me until, with relief, I climbed over the next fence and up towards the rocky ridges of Hightown.

data mining

2011-06-03T21:17:00.001+01:00

My regular partner-in-cycling is trying to poke, prod and persuade me into taking on the Ulster Way next year.

It’s all my fault. I made the mistake of sending him a link to the Ulster Way website.

The Ulster Way is a 1000km journey over (and through) every imaginable surface.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m up for the challenge, but we’re having a disagreement over how long it’ll take.

Martin lives in England, so we can’t easily split it up over a wheen of sessions, and he can’t really afford to take more than a week off work at a time.

He’s up for doing the whole thing in seven days, I’m thinking ten. 7 days would be 90 miles a day, a reasonable distance if you can maintain a pace of somewhere around 10mph. The big question in my mind is - would 10mph be a realistic average?

When Tango and Cash, did it in 6 days, on singlespeeds, they were riding 13 and 14 hour days. I love adventure riding; taking on big distances over terrain that most people never see. But I don’t just do it so that I can look back and say ‘I did it’. I like to enjoy the journey while it’s happening, and several consecutive 13 hour days in the saddle does not make for an enjoyable journey.

We could argue till the cows come home, but to make a decision, we need some data for our calculations.

Physio's orders!

2011-05-19T12:20:00.001+01:00

At the Physio today I finally got started on weights and I don't have to stop when I feel pain.

I've never been so pleased to hear that I'm allowed to hurt myself.

Ciara said "I'll be seeing you again in three weeks. Between now and then I expect you to have done a day's mountain biking"

Ah well, I suppose I'll have to then, for medical reasons!

Newferry - Portglenone

2011-05-10T12:19:00.006+01:00

Yesterday the weather was horrendous: cold, wet and windy. There were power cuts and trees blown down all over the province. Today the weather forecast said it was to be better, but not much.

We decided to begin at Newferry and paddle upstream into Lough Beg, knowing that it'd be choppy with the wind. When it got

too difficult we could turn at any time and paddle downstream towards Portglenone. The journey along the river would

be the main part of the morning, but if we got to explore Lough Beg it'd be a bonus.

Evan picked me up just after 9am and we went back to his to load the canoe onto his roof rack. From there we drove

to Newferry and got dressed. Waterproof trousers, wellie boots, raincoat, buoyancy aid, and a floppy hat were the uniform of the day.

We carried the boat to the slipway instead of launching from the canoe step. There were some points of interest along the waterline of that slipway. We successfully identified a dead dog and floating fish, besides the usual green slime and discarded takeaway boxes.

Once in the water we paddled upstream onto the lough. Me providing the power at the front, Evan steering from behind. It's a while since I had a decent trip in an open canoe, but I quickly settled into my rhythm as we headed across to the far bank and made our way towards the

lough. I must have been pulling well enough, because my strokes were driving us towards the bank, and Evan had to ask me to stop a few times so he could straighten up.

When the shelter provided by the long grass and high bank subsided, the full force of the wind built up and up. We could see whitecaps across the lough, and the waves were getting pretty lively as we paddled towards the island at mullaghardry. I was sure we were still making good headway though, until I looked at the bank beside me and realised we hadn't moved at all for a full minute! Time to push a bit harder. Evan told me 'Short, powerful Strokes' and I know that's the right thing to do, but after a couple of minutes of constantly planting the paddle and hauling the boat towards it I have to admit I got slower and slower. and slower.

We did eventually make it into the lee of the island, had a quick look around and opted to take the simple decision, turned round and headed downriver.

It's a lot easier paddling

with the wind behind you, let me tell you. I wasn't steering though and I think Evan would have preferred it if I'd stopped pretending to be a sail and seeing if I could tack and jibe!

Back on the more sheltered river we had a fun, but generally uneventful journey down to Portglenone. We stopped a few times to free fishing tackle and old ropes from the trees, watched the herons and kingfishers and meandered down the river, taking turns to steer so we could practice our 'J', Indian and Canadian strokes in the stern, and sweep strokes and bow rudders at the front.

When we hauled up at the slipway there were workmen refurbishing it all. It was a building site with cranes and diggers, concrete blocks and cables lying everywhere. We were just contemplating carrying the canoe out to the road when Pearl's Renault came bumping over the debris, swerving to avoid heavy machinery. As nervous builders dived for cover she skidded to a halt beside us. Evan leaped into the passenger seat and they roared off to retrieve his car with the roof bars leaving me to wait with the boat and the shell shocked builders.

trying out the boat

2011-05-09T12:19:00.005+01:00

For his coaching course, Evan needs to get as much practice as possible so he's always a willing accomplice on a day trip, We're heading out tomorrow. I took Ricky up on his offer and borrowed his canoe. He even offered to pick us up at the end of the journey, but he won't be available until 4pm. Evan only has a half day off work, so his mum volunteered to do the shuttling instead.

Ricky was great, checking we know what we're doing, volunteering buoyancy aids, equipment, advice and experience. He keeps a first aid kit clipped to one of the painters, there's enough flotation lashed into the boat to raise the titanic, spare buoyancy aids tucked in bow and stern, and last thing before I drove off he tossed a throw bag into the back seat of my car. We won't take it because we both have our own, but Ricky didn't know that. "Keep safe" he said again and again. He knows I've done the coaching course, but he's only ever seen me paddle at the family day on the six mile water, so he has every right to be concerned. He's still willing to loan us his canoe though, and is falling over himself to be helpful.

I dropped the boat round with Evan and we discussed tomorrow's trip until late into the night.

back on the bike - proper

2011-05-05T12:17:00.001+01:00

Today's X-ray shows a change in the bone. it's still broken, but there's more fibres connecting the two sides. i'm allowed to ride the mountain bike, but nothing crazy. I never do anything crazy so I should be OK there.

Mucky

2011-04-27T13:37:00.000+01:00

Robert from work lives in Portmuck. He used to be a commercial fisherman and he's full of stories of the sea, and of his many other exploits. We went paddling together last year in the USA on the river Kankakee, and since he's got a couple of sit-on-tops we always planned to get a paddle together a bit closer to home. After work tonight, we finally got it together.

I got the train to Larne where Evan, who did the coaching course with me and who's now doing the level two course, picked me up and we drove to Robert's house. When Robert finished work, he came home on his scooter and we met up with his girlfriend Maggie, carted the sit-on-tops down to the harbour and launched onto the glassy water of the Irish Sea. A leisurely paddle around Muck Island followed by a 'skills session' from Evan and a barbecue on the beach. perfect.

Eye Feel Good Route Blog

2011-04-22T10:21:00.000+01:00

Here's the blog of the EyeFeelgood charity paddle from Antrim to Castlerock

Kit List

2011-04-15T10:18:00.000+01:00

I came across this useful list of kit on the EyeFeelGood blog. They're organising a canoe trip next week from Antrim to Castlerock, the same journey as us, but probably a little bit further because we'll not be starting from Antrim... or will we?
It's way too late for me to get involved in their paddle this year, but it'll be interesting to see how they get on.

Now I can paddle

2011-04-11T10:16:00.001+01:00

Ciara, my physio, phoned to say she's talked to Mr. Swain and i'm allowed to paddle gently on flat water. Just as well, because I already have, and I'm not very good at telling lies.

Paddling gently

2011-04-09T10:08:00.002+01:00

Had a great afternoon paddling up and down the mouth of the sixmilewater in kayaks and canoes courtesy of MobileTeamAdventure. The two oldest kids were total naturals. we really have to get out as a family sometime.
Best of all, Mobile Team Adventure were assisted by Ricky Fee from EyeFeelGood. Ricky knows my wife Alex because she runs the local parent and toddler group in our church, and she's also been to a couple of Eye Feel Good fundraising events. He made it very clear that any time I want to borrow a canoe, I just have to ask.

I'd been starting to worry where we'd get hold of a boat for the trip. That's that problem solved.

In case you've never heard of Eye Feel Good, they're a charity which organises events to raise money to help people with cancer. Many of the events are outdoor activities.

obstacles

2011-04-07T21:40:00.000+01:00

I've mentioned the surgery on my wrist more than once. I thought that by now it'd be practically healed and I'd be back to doing all the things I love doing. Well after one week in a backslab plaster, and four weeks in a cast, then another five weeks taking it easy, this is what my latest x-ray looks like.

It's an impressive x-ray, but there's still a gap between the two parts of the bone, and that's not good. "Non-Union", they call it and it's one of the risks of getting your bones surgically broken.

The plate is holding it in place so I'm allowed to do some cycling, though nothing too extreme, but my physio said I'm not allowed to paddle for a while yet.

Adventureland 2011

2011-04-04T10:06:00.001+01:00

Northern Ireland Adventureland 2011. (Yep, that's one of the CAAN websites) The link probably won't work forever, but the idea is that you can try pretty much any outdoor activity in Northern Ireland for £10 this weekend. I think it's a great idea, the only problem is that it seems to be only people like me who're already into outdoor things that have heard about it. I've been telling everybody, and booked the family to go paddling on the sixmilewater on Saturday.

New Bike

2011-03-15T21:55:00.000Z

Got a new Bike on the cycle to work scheme!

It's a Vitus Vee-1 singlespeed.

shame i'm not allowed to ride it!
I also got suspension for the marin - Rock Shox Sektor - which cost more than the vitus!

Cycle to work means I pay them off over the year, and I don't have to pay VAT or Income Tax on them. Bargain!

Now Why can't the government introduce a canoe to work scheme?

Route Planning - Done.

2011-03-05T09:44:00.000Z

Outdoors activities are much better represented online in Northern Ireland than the rest of the UK. the Countrywide Access and Activities Network (CAAN) is an umbrella organisation whose job is to make it easy to get involved in outdoor activities. I've met the director, Caro-lynne Ferris and some of the projects they've completed and are planning are ambitious enough to turn Northern Ireland into the place to go for Outdoor activities.

We truly do have it all within a very very small area. world class surfing, kite surfing, kite buggys on great beaches, sea kayaking as good as anywhere in the world, massive inland seas in Lough Neagh and Strangford with untapped potential. The mournes and Sperrins aren't very high, but they are proper mountains which are unbelievably accessible, allowing any of us to experience fell running, mountain boarding, hill walking, climbing, and mountain biking. We can develop world class road cycling, and horse riding, go caving in Fermanagh, we have some awesome cliffs, particularly at fair Head... CAAN's plans to develop Magheramorne quarry as a downhill mountain biking centre are very ambitious, and they have totally rejuvenated the previously disintegrating Ulster Way. What's even better is their venture Outdoors programme which makes outdoor activities accessible to those who would otherwise miss out.

CAAN's imagination is limited only by the fact that they're a charity, so alongside every project they take on they need to raise the funds to pay for it.
They've got a number of specialised websites under the outdoorsNI brand: walkni, cycleni, canoeni, which identify routes and promote activities. It's a great integrated system, and because it exists, Northern Ireland has a disproportionately large number of well documented canoe trails, including the Lower Bann Canoe Trail which we're going to travel this summer.

So there's less for Martin and me to do in the way of route planning this year than last - plus the fact that we're paddling down a big river, navigation won't be a major challenge.

skills are another matter, and equipment too.
I've done some paddling before. I took a canoe coaching course in 2009, but failed to graduate because I was out of the country on the assessment weekends. It was very useful though because it got me a lot of experience paddling diferent canoes and kayaks on flat water.

Martin's a bit of a paddling novice, but he's got plenty of time to find a couple of taster sessions.

Neither of us has any real knowledge of what to do beyond basic flatwater paddling so I've got to gain some experience of locks, weirs and a little bit of whitewater before we go.

The Initial Plan

2011-03-03T12:43:00.006Z

Before we'd even set off from St. Bees last Summer we already knew what we wanted to do this year. It's a much more leisurely challenge, but i don't think it'll be any less memorable.

We're going to canoe the length of the Lower Bann.

phase two

2011-03-02T12:37:00.003Z

It's time to dust off the old blog again as we prepare for some mild excitement in 2011. I had my ulnar shortening surgery in January and I'm not yet allowed to do anything that would impact the wrist, so the only thing I can do is plan.

I made a book

2010-10-17T00:12:00.002+01:00

Mild Excitement by John McClean | Make Your Own Book

2010-07-14T09:50:00.001+01:00

So That's it.

2010-07-14T09:40:00.001+01:00

So That's it.
We rode down the slipway and dipped our front wheels in the water. The tide was in, so we rode round on top of the wall to get to the beach. I found a stone to match the one I'd picked up in St. Bees, and we got an ice cream each.
Except that wasn't really it. We'd both been using the ride to raise money for building work to our churches. When we arrived, we were surprised to find that Martin's minister was there waiting to greet and congratulate us.
Shortly after, Alex and Tiny arrived with the kids and we had an enthusiastic reunion, lots of splashing in the sea and a bag of chips.
As we were heading back up that hill to the cars we met the guys from Kirkby Stephen Youth Hostel just finishing their ride, looking as exhausted as we felt.
And so we went on to begin our holiday proper, camping on Humblebee Farm with our families, and the next generation began preparing for their own cycling adventure.

lost in the forest (Day 5 part 3)

2010-07-13T21:37:00.007+01:00

We'd originally planned to go around Newton House Plantation, but from where we were standing it looked like there was a clear path through the middle. So we took that. It turned out to be a logging track that led us deep inside the wood before stopping. We had the demoralising choice of going right back out the way we came and around the long way, or trying to force our way through the dense forest and felled trees to the other side.

This is the one place where the sat nav on my phone really saved our bacon. Looking at the map I could see where we were, I could see what direction we were looking, and I could see that if we forced our way through the trees to our right, there was a path on the other side. Leaving the bike, I pushed through to get a look, and sure enough, far below was the path, winding along beside a stream. It wasn't an easy descent, with the dead trees cracking beneath our weight, but we made it down with only minor scratches and not a few twigs stuck in our socks.

From there, the ride out was challenging, crossing the stream a few times, balancing along narrow paths with impressive drops to the brook below, turning corners to be faced with unexpected steep climbs or obstacles, but the path turned into a lane, the lane turned into a road and when we got to the end of that road, we were on the main A171 to Robin Hood's Bay.
As we blasted down the hill towards the sea I wished I'd put my phone back on the handlebars after we came out of the woods, but there was no way I was stopping to put it back now. The gradients were insane - 40% at one point according to the signs, and I've no idea what speed we were doing. Well within the speed limit, I'm sure.

Beck Hole (Day 5 part 2)

2010-07-13T11:59:00.009+01:00

Ever since I'd heard about them in School I'd always wanted to see a real Roman road. I'd been taught that the Romans just pointed towards where they wanted to go and started building, chopping the tops off mountains and building bridges and embankments across valleys, so that their roads would be the shortest route from source to destination. The idea had really captured my imagination, so I was pleased to see the indication 'roman road' on the map between the bridleway and Beck hole.

And it was straight.

Maybe I could have been disappointed - it was an ordinary narrow tarmac'd road, nothing remarkable about it, except perhaps the masses of bright purple heather lining both sides, but I was really pleased that I'd finally got to ride on a real live roman road.

Enough nostalgia. We picked a track that looked as if it was heading in the right direction and plunged into a wood. It turned out to be a really really good trail with exceptionally steep downhill and interesting twists and turns. I thought it'd soon level out after such a good start, but it just kept going down and down through the woods, challenging, but very rideable. We finally popped out from behind a house right in the middle of the hamlet-that-could-be-a-hornby-model of Beck Hole.

At first it looked as if there was nowhere to eat, but when we crossed the bridge, we discovered the Birch Hall Inn.

After a lunch of sandwiches made with home made bread, eaten in scorching sunshine outside the inn, Martin bought us sweets from the wee shop next door. We looked at the map and decided to try taking the path to Goathland and heading up out the road.

As with every other road ot of Beck Hole and Goathland, this one started with a 25% gradient, and climbed 200m within 2km. On this trip I discovered that Martin likes to use mantras and repetition to get through difficulties. On this climb it was "This is the Last Hill" Actually, he used that mantra on the previous uphill - and the next one too.

It was hard work, but we were buoyed by the fact that we were pretty sure we'd be able to see the sea when we got to the top.

Back on the moors (Day 5 part 1)

2010-07-13T09:57:00.007+01:00

Friday Morning, The Last Day. We were looking forward to the prospect of more time on the moors. If it was anything like Thursday evening this would be a great way to finish. The quickest way back up was along the road up Castleton Rigg, which was very exposed, so our enthusiasm got knocked out of us within a few miles.

As we approached Rosedale Head we could see quite a few pairs of walkers at what appeared to be regular intervals, coming from Farndale moor in the West and making their way east along the road we were about to turn onto. There was a car in the car park with a couple of ladies drinking from a flask of tea, so we stopped and asked them what was happening. It wasn't an organised event as we'd thought. The ladies were patiently waiting for their husbands who had started walking at 4 o'clock in the morning in order to walk the lykewake walk within the 24 hour time limit.

We rode on, passing a few of the walkers as we went. Martin had ridden some of this route before and had been telling me all week about a really difficult section we'd have to negotiate and how he was both dreading it and looking forward to it. Tootling along the road didn't seem too hard, and I was daydreaming, leaving the navigation to him, when he just stopped. "I think this is it" he said. I looked around. As far as I could see we were on a moorland road with no distinguishing features. Then I saw the Bridleway sign. Now some of the bridleways we'd ridden would easliy have accomodated a team of horses pulling a carriage complete with footmen and petticoated ladies. This one would have been a squeeze for a donkey, but I had complete faith in Martin and followed him meekly as he directed his steed along the bridleway.

Like the Lake District and the Cleveland way, the path was laid out with a paved track of rough stones. Unlike the previous two tracks, this was on flat ground, and was easy to ride. the stones had been laid end to end on top of the peat soil, presumably to stop travellers from sinking into the earth, never to be seen again.
Martin's warnings increased as we cycled. He related the story of how, somewhere along the bridleway the stones were spaced further apart. The first time he'd been here he tried to bunny-hop his bike from one to the next, missed and ended up neck deep in mud. At least, it was neck deep on the third telling.

We didn't run into that problem. Yes, the stone blocks were spaced further apart, some were missing, and yes, it would have been possible to slip off the stones to the mud below. It wouldn't have been a problem though, because it hadn't rained for a week and the peat was as dry as a Yorkshireman's sense of humour.

It was a great path. Easy, fast riding for miles on a clearly marked path with nobody about. We stopped briefly at one point to watch a couple of eurofighters having a mock dogfight before deciding to head in the direction of Beck Hole to try and get some lunch.

The Moors (Day 4 part 2)

2010-07-12T21:24:00.016+01:00

The path up onto the moors from Heathwaite is well marked, and we met plenty of walkers. One couple who held a gate open for us had walked the coast to coast a dozen times. Like in the Lakes, the path was designed to help walkers and reduce erosion, so it wasn't great for riding.

Once up onto the plateau, those same paths made riding extremely easy, solid paths broken only by the regular gashes which allow water to drain off. No need for drainage today, but up on the exposed moors it did get quite windy.

Just when we were getting used to the path, the Cleveland way dropped down into a steep valley, and immediately back up again. Martin's skills both on the technical down hill, and hauling the bike back up meant he pulled away from me and had to stop and wait. Because the trail was skirting around the edge of the Moors, this happened three more times. On the map we could see a fourth coming up, so we decided to find another way around. Following cattle tracks we crossed a couple of fields through some trees and followed a trail through five foot ferns, chased by a swarm of flies (actually I was chased by a swarm of flies. Martin didn't seem to attract them at all) and rejoined the Cleveland Way at the foot of the next hill. It was a much more enjoyable route.

For the lengh of Urra, Ingleby and Battersby moors, the Cleveland Way was wide enough to drive a landrover, it's a road without vehicles, but in many places the road was rough and eroded so it was decent double-track riding. We met nobody; no vehicles and no walkers for mile after mile. There were sheep and all sorts of birds everywhere, but we could almost have been the only human survivors of the zombie apocalypse.

As we turned off the Cleveland Way and approached Hograh moor, we had a climb through the forest. There was some sign indicating that it had been ridden before on mountain bikes, but where we were ascending, the track would have been a whole lot better for downhill. The path then dropped down into a dip with a waterfall and a park bench, trees and memorials to a few people "In memory of XXX. He loved these moors" etc. It really felt like an oasis in the middle of the desert. We mucked around for a few minutes before heading on. It was only later that we discovered both our watches stopped right about the time we were sitting on that seat. freaky.

After the park bench everything changed. We were obviously on a trail regularly used by mountain bikers, and this time we were going the right direction. That trail down to Westerdale stands out in my mind as the best section of the entire trip. It was technical enough that it required full concentration, but fast enough that it was just a bit scary. I don't think I've ever ridden anything quite as good. we were tired after the day's ride, and I'd love to do that section again on its own when I'm fresh.

From Westerdale we didn't waste any time taking the roads to Castleton where we easily found Greystones B&B on the main street. After we wheeled our bikes round to the conservatory, Sean drove us over the valley to the Eskdale inn where we ate well and drank lots. the staff there were extremely friendly even though we were filthy and smelly after our day on the bikes. Neither of us drinks alcohol, but my lemonade came in a Magners glass, and I had a strange urge to order some. I got a half pint, but I was stuffed so I didn't even finish that. We burned off some of the excellent meal by walking back across the valley to the guest house where we had baths before going to bed. Youth Hostels are closing all across the country and it's obvious why. They offer basic accomodation, but yet their prices are not significantly lower than bed and breakfasts offering personal service and all the comforts of home.

To the Moors (Day 4 part 1)

2010-07-12T18:15:00.004+01:00

Acorn corner to Swainby

First thing on Thursday morning, we rode back through East Cowton. Alex had arranged our final night in a hamlet called Castleton, bang in the middle of the North York Moors. Instead of starting the climb up to the top of the moors from Osmotherly first thing Friday morning we could be doing it shortly after lunch on Thursday. We decided the best way was via Swainby, about 15 miles from Acorn Corner via quiet country roads.

We were in no great hurry, but the roads were flat and it was easy to rumble along at a steady 15 mph. We stopped a couple of times to take photographs. In East Harlsey, while Martin dealt with a crisis at work, I decided to fix my lowest gear so I could have an easier climb into the Moors. It had been slipping so I just had to adjust the limiting screw. Martin had never worked with derailleur gears before so I passed on my scant knowledge. He builds classic motorbikes for fun, so if I know something that he doesn't, I feel good.

Crossing the A19 we rode into Ingleby Cross and began looking for somewhere to stop for Lunch. There's not much there, so we headed on up into Swainby. As we entered the village, there was a warning sign with a duck on it. I noticed it, but didn't think much of it until we turned a corner and were met by a very strange sight. The whole street had ground to a halt because about twenty ducks and ducklings were parading across the road.

Lunch was in the beer garden of the Black Horse pub, where we spent some time plotting our route up into the Moors.

East Cowton (or not)

2010-07-11T21:34:00.000+01:00

East Cowton to Acorn Corner
When we arrived in East Cowton and began looking for Acorn Corner B&B. We soon realised that with no road name or house number, the address of "Markstone House" was going to be a little bit too vague to be useful. It's not a huge village, it has a post office (which had closed for the day) and a couple of streets of houses.

We asked a girl pushing a buggy, but she had no idea.

Martin asked a woman washing her car, but after listening to her talk for a full ten miuntes, waving her arms about as she told us to try turning "left, then right, no, second left, no straight on..." we realised that she didn't have a clue either.

Everybody was trying hard to be helpful, but nobody actually knew where Markstone House was. Eventually we laid the bikes down on a grassy verge outside a large house and Martin called laterooms.com for directions, while I tried to hunt it down on google maps. Neither was very helpful, and we were starting to wonder if we'd be sharing my orange emergency bivvy for the night when a lady came out of the house. We told her our predicament and she disappeared inside to fetch her son.

We then tried to get hold of Tiny to see if she and the computer could get a working phone number for Acorn Corner. Given our recent experiences of Yorkshire helpfulness, we weren't convinced the son would be much help, but instead of coming out to give us directions he appeared wearing cycling shoes and a helmet. "I'll just go down the store and get my bike."

George Robinson led us almost three miles out of the village on his road bike to take us to Markstone house. Of course we got talking. He was 17, and not content with just cycling, George does triathlon. In my book, anybody who even completes a triathlon is super-fit, but George apparently isn't content with just completing them. He wins them. I did some googling when I got back, and he's definitely one of the fastest in the region for his age group. Most people we talked to were pretty impressed that we were riding across England in five days. George did it last year in six. Except he started in nearby Northallerton, rode to the Robin Hood's Bay, cycled to the West coast and then back home. Yup, that's twice.

He left us at Acorn Corner and the owner, Dianne, led us in and showed us our twin room and the stone byre where we could store our bikes. Absolute luxury after two nights in hostels. The power shower got well used and the TV got turned on (Top Gear on Dave, of course) Proper clean fresh towels included in the price, and excellent beds. Dianne directed us to the Arden Arms where we could go to get food. She did offer to make us something herself, but we thought that'd be a bit unfair since we'd given her no warning.

The Arden Arms turned out to be a fair old ride from the B&B. We thought we must have missed a turnoff, but we hadn't and we got there eventually.

When King Chulalongkorn of Siam visited germany in 1907 his hosts commissioned an artist to paint an elephant so he would feel at home. The picture had all the features of an elephant - a long trunk, thick legs, big ears etc. - but it was obvious that the artist was drawing the beast, not from his own experience, but from descriptions that he'd heard. the 'elephant' looked more like a grey cow.

That surreal elephant picture sprang into my head as we ate. Minestrone soup with no pasta. hard boiled eggs in the curry. Mango chutney without popadoms. It felt like the chef had heard descriptions of exotic meals and tried to recreate them, but having never seen them himself, had used his own experience to fill in the gaps.

I know that immediately sounds as if I didn't like the food. In fact it was some of the best food I've ever tasted, and if i was manager of the Arden Arms I'd tell chef to let his imagination run wild and I'd use it as a selling point.

Maybe instead of the elephant picture I should use the analogy of a great singer who takes a song and makes it 'their own', turning a decent song into a great one.

---

I have since learned that Minestrone just means 'big soup' and doesn't have to contain pasta.
and for future potential guests to Acorn Corner, Dianne has created a website, with a map showing how to get there.

Yorkshire Dales (Day 3)

2010-07-11T20:43:00.005+01:00

Kirkby Stephen to West Moor
Wednesday was always going to be mostly road riding, but the roads across the Yorkshire dales are quiet enough. After our decision to ride further today, Tina had come up trumps with a guest house in East Cowton. It was just off the top of my maps, but we found it easily enough on the hostel's computer.
After stocking up on shortbread from the co-op, and scoffing cereal and toast for breakfast, we set out at about ten o'clock for our 60 mile ride.

Just to get us warmed up for the day - to get us over that first real challenge, there's a 20% gradient out of Nateby village. As we ascended, climbing from our starting altitude of 150m up to a height of over 500m in the space of a few miles, the landscape changed, becoming more and more barren. Unshorn sheep wandered across the road in front of us and apart from a couple of landrovers and a tractor we saw very little evience of human activity.

There were one or two oddities in the windswept wilderness. As we looked down into the valley a giant dry stone wall sheep pen caught our eye because the grass within the walls was lush green, while everything outside was grey-brown. As we began to descend, stone structures began to become a feature in many fields, their numbers increasing, with more and more fields containing two storey stone barns in the corner, until in the valley between Keld and Thwaite it seemed that every field contained one of these unusual buildings.

Lunch was a very civilised affair, sitting outside the Kearton hotel in Muker. On the menu mine sounded like a gourmet dish worthy of at least two michelin stars, but turned out to be cumberland sausage with onion rings. Actually it tasted fine, but I was picking bits of gristle out of my teeth the rest of the day. Martin was able to keep his rapidly diminishing wad of cash in his pocket for once, because they took American Express!

West Moor to Grinton
From Muker, the bus to Richmond cost 50p, but we saved our money and took the bikes instead. For a couple of miles we weren't far behind the bus either, because the roads were very narrow and much of it was downhill. Our route ran down the Swaledale valley, the barren moss giving way to wooded hillsides. We stopped for ice cream at three o'clock in the picture postcard village of Grinton, We'd originally intended to stay there for the night, so riding further was without question a very good decision.

On into Richmond, the hamstring that had been niggling me during training started to play up. It wasn't bad enough to affect my riding, but I was concerned that it might get worse, so I started to ease off. Martin was very understanding and we stopped for a short break in Brompton. This part of England seems quite isolated from other parts of the country, and they've developed some strange customs and forms of entertainment. Duck racing anyone? Actually I think that would be worth watching.

From Scorton, there were plenty of signs for 'Cowtons' and it was only four o'clock, so we were in high spirits, opting to finish our journey along the bridleway from Atley Hill to East Corton and finish our journey having ridden at least a little off-road at the end of day three.

TEBAY!! (Day 2 part 2)

2010-07-10T23:04:00.000+01:00

Borrowdale - Kirkby Stephen

At the top of the hill we crossed the A6 in a break in the traffic and were able to look down the valley. The path was wide and well worn, but it was loose and bumpy. We dropped the saddles and kicked up some dust, sailing rather than riding over the loose scree, shifting balance to steer rather than relying on the tyres to grip. I hit a good bump and put some air between the wheels and the ground, wishing there was somebody with a camera to catch it. I certainly wasn't stopping to take one myself! Martin says he heard me whooping a couple of times as I left him behind. It might have been to tell the sheep to get out of my way, but equally, I might just have been enjoying myself.

When the terrain eventually levelled out, we crossed the river and stopped while Martin found a phone signal and returned some business calls. We cycled on beside the river, pulling on our windproofs and waterproofs as we encountered the valley's wind funnel effect and the first rain of the trip.

Eventually the trail became a track, which turned into a road through the woods, and finally ended in a junction, where we could see the motorway passing above us and an old railway viaduct beyond. We rode under them both and made our way round to a path marked on the map. It was a hidden gem on the journey. If this had been a sightseeing trip that fairy glen would have been a highlight, but it was a cycling trip and that glen was both impossible to ride and, because it was a footpath - not a bridleway - riding would have been illegal. So we dismounted and pushed, but it wasn't a chore this time.

the path followed the river Lune and beyond it, the motorway, right up to Tebay.

Tebay. A significant stopoff for both Martin and me.

When I was a kid growing up, we pulled that caravan from the boat at Stranraer down the motorways to Devon every year. Most years we stopped in Tebay to break the journey, so the very name 'Tebay' evokes some of my best childhood memories; holidays, car games, the whole family singing funny songs, driving through the night and most importantly, a peaceful oasis on long journeys.

For Martin, Tebay was also a stopoff on long journeys. As he worked on electrical installations up and down the country he'd stop in Tebay services and dream of riding coast to coast. Every time there was anyone else with him he'd bore them with details of how someday he'd ride his mountain bike from St. Bees to Robin Hood's Bay.

We probably stopped too long in Tebay Services, but we took on plenty of junk food, hot chocolate, coffee (Martin had to sit in the cafe where he'd dreamed of this journey so many times) I bought Pork Scratchings which I'd never tried before, and Kendal Mint cake as gifts for my family.

As we stood outside in the drizzling rain, a car pulled up with a couple of mountain bikes in the boot. They'd had a washout couple of days in Wales, and when they heard we were riding coast to coast they replied with a single word. "Respect." I laughed to myself. I don't really consider myself to be much of a mountain biker, and to get respect from guys who looked like hardened veterans felt good.

leaving Tebay, we didn't feel like doing too much thinking about our route. If we headed along the A685 we'd end up in Kirkby Stephen in a couple of hours, and that sounded good. We put our heads down and pumped along the road with cars bombing past at eighty miles an hour, missing us by inches. It was disheartening, because the road was so straight it felt as if we weren't making any progress. I took the lead for the first few miles, and then when I started to flag, Martin passed me and I tucked in behind him. Everything I dislike about road riding was embodied in those few miles. I tried to pass the time by matching Martin's gear changes, by trying to keep my front tyre an inch from his back, by singing songs to myself in time to turning the pedals. In the end I just zoned out and pumped.

We could see Ash Fell towering ahead of us from miles back, but there was no use worrying about it until we got there. When we reached it, it was a slog. I took the lead again and we plodded our way up. and up. the fact that it was boring just made it harder, but eventually we reached the summit.

up...down.

For once I had my phone switched to tell me what speed I was doing. My helmet peak was pulling my head up as I rode into the headwind, and When we crossed into the 20mph limit going into Kirkby Stephen it read 40mph, which is pretty fast on a mountain bike with big knobbly tyres. Thankfully there was no speed camera.

I braked hard, and when Martin caught up I still had a big grin on my face. We pedalled in a leisurely fashion along the main street. I asked Martin if he knew how far it was to the Youth Hostel, and he answered by pointing to it.

Recovering (Day 2 part 1)

2010-07-10T22:30:00.010+01:00

Ambleside - Borrowdale

The best thing to cure the distaste for off-road riding that we'd accumulated after Monday's drudgery, was ten miles riding on the road along the A591. Oh the scenery wasn't boring, in fact it was rather beautiful, but trudging along a busy tarmac road on knobbly tyres while the traffic builds up behind you is really not my idea of fun. We even had to pull in at one point to let the queue past, the way I remember my dad had to do when we were holidaying in Devon with our overweight caravan and underpowered car. Ten miles of that and I was ready for off-road again.

When we got to the village of Staveley we held a conference. No lunch yesterday was a really bad idea, but 11:30am is surely too early for lunch. But who knows if we'll pass anywhere else? We passed the Staveley Chippy just as they were opening for the day and the bench outside helped sway us.

I ordered first, which was probably a bad idea.
"Curry Chip please"
The woman gave me a blank look.
Then I remembered, this is England. Never use two words when ten will do.
"Please may I have a portion of chips, with some curry sauce?"
That sorted it, and Martin ordered a chip. Sorry, a portion of chips. Strangely they didn't take American Express, so Martin paid from his wad of notes.

I'd be interested to hear from any girls reading. When a bloke sees you walking down the street and his head turns to follow your progress, how do you feel? do you take it as a compliment or do you think his ogling's rude? The reason I ask is that as we sat and ate our early lunch, I was ogling. Iwas ogling a carbon fibre singlespeed fixed gear with custom semi-dropped bars. beautiful. (oh, that's a bicycle by the way) but when I eventually got around to looking at the fellah in the saddle, I could see that he was ogling our bikes too. I nodded and he rode on. Next thing I knew he'd turned and come back.
"nice frame bag" he said (now there's a chat up line if you ever need one!)
and we chatted for a while. He actually worked at Wheelbase in the village, so after we'd finished eating we headed round that way for some advice.
With his help, we mapped out a route that was a good mix of B and C roads to Garnett Bridge, followed by bridleways as far as the motorway. Then at Tebay, we could decide how to get to Kirkby Stephen, where we were booked in for the night.

The route to Garnett Bridge was probably some of the most pleasant road cycling I've ever done. The long steep ascent to Gilpin Bank was probably hard work, but what I remember about it was how enjoyable it was to ride on the quiet country roads, with great views and interesting details all around. Then the ride down the other side to Garnett Bridge was a blast. We probably weren't going that fast, but it was a great fun ride.

We stopped briefly at Garnett Bridge to eat our chocolate croissants from the Youth Hostel, and began the off-road section of the day.

We began riding up a short steep bridleway to meet with the A6. Most of this section to Borrowdale followed the A6 quite closely, but apart from a mile or so, we were sticking to laneways and bridleways that ran parallel to the main road.

Being unfamiliar with English ways, I was surprised to find that many of the bridleways are just fields with a gate at either end, with little or no track marked out. Everything was well signposted though and it wasn't difficult to navigate. The biggest issue was that grass is one of the most physically draining surfaces for cycling. you seem to have to pedal twice as far to go the same distance on grass as you do on hard surfaces.

There are two clear routes from Borrowdale to the M6. The Breasthigh Road goes over the top of the mountains, while the other route follows the valley, coming out further south. The weather looked like it was going to close in within the next couple of hours, so that, coupled with the fact that the easiest place for a bicycle to cross the M6 looked to be further south, helped us decide to ride along the valley.

Ambleside YH

2010-07-09T23:59:00.006+01:00

Ambleside Youth Hostel was busy when we arrived. The reception staff were friendly and helpful, told us where we could lock up our bikes and which room we’d be sleeping in.

On top of the cost of the room we had to pay £4 each for a cooked breakfast, £3 for a padlock and £2 for Martin’s towel. Actually when you add it all up, a Youth Hostel's not much cheaper than in a bed and breakfast, especially when you consider the fact that there were 9 beds in our room (all occupied at some point during the night) and there were only a couple of toilets and showers to accommodate the whole floor.

I was zonked, and if the aliens had invaded that night I’m not sure I’d have noticed. We locked up the bikes in the shed round the back, barely glancing at the sunset over the lake, and I got bed sheets because mine had gone missing. I then had a quick shower, took out my phone battery and charged it up (an external charger costs about £2 and is less likely to get nicked than the phone) and up the ladder into bed, while Martin got a padlock for the locker and chatted to a man from China who was youth hostelling around the UK.

Apparently we’d both drunk too much water on Day one, because both of us were up during the night. Everybody is so keen to stress that you shouldn’t get dehydrated, but it’s just as easy to go the other way (less dangerous though!) we were also thoroughly sick of cranberries, nuts and jelly babies, and Martin decided he was never going to touch High5 powdered carbohydrate mix again.

Next morning I was feeling much better. We had a choice of routes for today, and although neither of us wanted to appear ‘soft’ we both dropped enough hints to each other that the easier route would be better, that nobody lost face by being the first to back down. Sometimes it takes diplomacy to be a bloke on a man’s adventure.

They’ve got a clever system going in the youth hostel at Ambleside. We’d paid for our cooked breakfast the night before when we arrived, low on energy. After a good night’s sleep, however, I didn’t want a cooked breakfast of any sort, and Martin only wanted eggs and bacon. I made up for it by eating three bowls of cereal and spilling a fourth all over the floor. Plenty of fruit juice and toast, and we nicked some chocolate croissants for later.

Packed up and collected the bikes from the shed… and mucked around watching a kayaking lesson on the lake for an hour. We fixed my punctured tube, Martin showed me a better way to do it, filled our water reservoirs, and eventually swung our legs over the saddles at about half past ten, to continue our journey East.

Struggling (Day 1 part 2)

2010-07-09T23:53:00.010+01:00

Wasdale Head - Ambleside

We’d been stuffing ourselves all morning on cranberries, raisins, nuts, jelly babies and bananas, so we weren’t hungry and decided to keep going from Wasdale Head, without wasting time and money on lunch. (one).

I checked my kit was securely attached and my tyres were soft enough to give good grip on the soft ground (two).

A biker on a Harley Davidson bike told us that of the two paths marked along Lingmall valley, the upper path along Great Gable would definitely be the easier, because the lower one had a ridiculously steep climb up to Sty Head at the end. (three) and so we set off that way.

It’s not easy to get away from Wasdale Head pub. It’s surrounded by sheepfolds with dry stone walls, and it’s difficult to see where the path is, or if you’re on the right one. We saw more than one group head off in one direction only to discover they were going completely the wrong way and turn back. We cycled along the road for a few metres before noticing the signpost behind us for the path heading the way we wanted to go. Once we’d negotiated the sheepfolds, we headed along the base of Great Gable. We were able to ride up to the gate, part of the way along the path, but after that it was pushing all the way as the loose pebbles coupled with the steep slope was some of the most energy sapping riding I’ve ever attempted. Yes, there were places we could have ridden, but getting on and off the bikes would have used more energy, and even when we rode, we moved no more quickly than when we walked. More than once I looked down at the track along the base of the valley, wishing we’d never followed the Bikers’ advice. (three)

Somewhere along that long slog, I picked up a snakebite puncture. The path wasn’t the mud I’d expected and was familiar with, so having soft tyres was totally the wrong approach (two). We had to stop and swap out the tube of my rear tyre before continuing. I was exhausted, my wrist was giving me trouble, and everything was taking longer than it should, so I was grateful when Martin shooed me away and did most of the work.

We hadn’t ridden much together and a few patterns were appearing. On the bikes, riding normal endurance cycling, were are pretty well matched. I ride slightly faster than Martin, but there’s not a massive difference. When we’re pushing and carrying, Martin’s way ahead of me. It’s not just that his bike’s lighter and that my frame bag hampers me carrying, he’s just much better at pushing. On fast downhills, I ride full throttle, brakes off, while he’s more cautious. But on very technical riding, he cycles where I wouldn’t dare. We have different strengths and weaknesses, but nothing that makes us incompatible as cycling buddies. Just as well, because we still had a long way to push before Sty Head, and a long long way to ride before Robin Hood’s bay.

Tyre fixed, and pumped up hard, we pushed on, trudging up towards the top, stopping to watch hikers struggle over boulders and cliffs, before shouldering the bikes and tackling them ourselves. This was the first of many times we heard people say “you’re spoiling a good walk, carrying those” and we agreed wholeheartedly, but we always had the hope that once we got over the highest point, it’d be downhill all the way and they’d look jealously at our backs as they trudged down in our wake.

It was a futile hope. From Sty Head down to Sprinkling tarn the Lake District’s volunteers have created paths from boulders that make life easier for walkers, protect the hills from erosion, and make riding impossible. From us hauling the bikes uphill, we were now holding them back as they tried to pull us off the path and down to the rocky chasm below. The descent was slow, draining, and disheartening as we watched more hikers pass us, spewing their jolly banter and meandering on their merry way. Even the short section we rode down from Sprinkling Tarn was unrelenting hard work, and watching someone set up camp for the night around Angle Tarn was probably the low point of the whole trip, because we knew we still had fifteen kilometres to go before the Youth Hostel at Ambleside.

We had a short break after Angle Tarn, and got chatting to a man who was actually quite excited. I didn’t catch the whole story, but I believe he worked with disabled people, and of the half dozen strangers he’d had conversations with that day in the hills, one of them provided resources to help disabled people work. They’d exchanged contact details, and it was very likely that they’d start doing business together. I do like coincidences like that, but by that stage I was mostly thinking “food!” “bed!” We got another frustratingly short cycle from Angle Tarn before manhandling our wheeled hindrances alongside Rossett Gill, all the while eyeing the smooth track of the Cumbria Way that we hoped would be our route out.

What would, at the beginning of the day, seemed like ‘proper off road’ now felt like the snooker-table smooth track of Silverstone. The mile and a half to the Old Dungeon Ghyll hotel flew by, and we stopped there for some desperately needed food (one). The afternoon would probably have been much easier if we’d eaten a decent lunch. When the food we ordered eventually did come, I picked at it, ate a few chips, just enough to lift my morale, and started badgering Martin to get going. I was exhausted like I’ve only been a few times in my life, and I know there’s only one cure. Sleep. Martin forced his into him, and as soon as possible, I persuaded him to pedalled on. I don’t remember much about the next ten miles. I think we took the old bridleway to Chapel Stile; I think there was traffic in Clappersgate; I think I went the wrong way up a one way street in Ambleside because it was shorter; but one thing I do know: After 13 gruelling hours travelling, bitterly regretting three bad decisions made at Wasdale Head, we made it to Ambleside Youth Hostel and bed.

Departing (Day 1 part 1)

2010-07-09T23:52:00.019+01:00

Saint Bees to Wasdale Head.

We woke up to sunshine and birds singing on Monday morning.

At breakfast we met an Australian woman who had shipped her bike to Robin Hood’s bay and was about to set off and walk across to pick it up. Carole told us that there’s been a steady stream of walkers this year, probably due to Julia Bradbury’s TV programme.

We got washed, pulled on our cycling shorts and saddled up, leaving the guest house at 9am.

Our first section was on the road. We expected day one to be a long and difficult one, so we wanted to get to Ennerdale water as quickly as possible. Things didn’t look good for our chances of navigating across the country when I sailed on past the first turn off, but with the GPS and Martin calling me back, we lost less than a minute. Our first experience of off-road was pleasant enough, the track from the road to the edge of the water turned and followed the shore. We met a German couple on old town bikes coming towards us, and they warned us that the route was impassable up ahead. I have to admit I laughed quietly to myself. Impassible is nothing. We were here to make the impassable passable. We turned the corner and stopped. There was a stream, and on the other side, nothing. Just a mass of thick fern groundcover.

I crossed the stream first and dismounted. I reached down pushed aside an armful of fronds and saw that the ground beneath was worn. I pushed back a bit further, and began to see a path. The entire trail had been overgrown with ferns, making it totally invisible.

On the bikes, now we knew what we were looking for, we were able to follow the dimple that had once been a path right round the north shore of Ennerdale. Where the ground was flat and the path worn smooth, this wasn't a problem, but on a couple of occasions, the ferns concealed treacherous obstacles, and Martin picked up the first injury of the trip. Catching an unexpected rock, his foot slipped and he knocked his shin with the pedal. Thankfully not too serious.

After about 3 miles of invisible path, we cut up onto another trail that was wide enough and smooth enough to drive a car along. We passed a few Duke of Edinburgh groups and day walkers, and caught glimpses through the trees of the peaceful lake beside us and the foreboding mountains ahead. I know using words like 'foreboding' in a blog usually sounds like you're trying too hard to write classy literature, but I did think long and hard before I used it. I rarely think much beyond the next turn of the pedals, but as we left the trees behind and the lake turned into a stream, those black mountains beginning to block out the morning sun made me consider what was ahead, and it wasn't pleasant. It also didn't help that Martin kept pointing at them every two minutes.

Every account I've read of a mountain bike attempt across England specifically mentions that they had to push and carry up Black Sail pass, and as we sat outside Black Sail Hut looking up at that pass I knew mine would say the same, and anyone reading that line of text would never fully understand the effort involved until they tried it themselves.

We had to push the bikes up Black Sail Pass.

Once we got to the top of the pass, we were able to enjoy a long, reasonably technical downhill to Wasdale head, where we stopped for another break.

It had been hard, work, but as we wandered round the shop and sat in the sun, and I mulled over the question of how the English can, on one hand make jokes about how daft the Irish are, but on the other post a 'No Picnics' sign above a picnic table, we were elated that our journey had begun in earnest, and we'd conquered the first real challenge of our route. Yep, the First Real Challenge. We were in our rhythm now, and the rest would be easy. How little I knew.

Arriving (Day 0)

2010-07-08T23:48:00.006+01:00

On Sunday, we left the family behind and threw the bikes into Martin’s van. His mate Jez joined us for the 4 hour journey to St. Bees. Martin was buzzing, he’d driven most of this journey hundreds of times with work, dreaming of riding coast to coast. He didn’t say much, but there was an air of excitement around him that almost hummed as he urged the van to go faster towards our starting point. I was quiet too, wondering what I’d let myself in for. After the Mournes I had no confidence that I’d be able to ride across even moderately challenging terrain, Despite the ordnance survey maps and satellite navigation, on my phone, the compasses, the maps, I was sure we’d get lost. Would my bike hold up, would the new tighter chain stop the ride on the first day? Would I fall off at the simplest hurdles like in Woodburn? On one hand, I was full of doubt. On the other, I was desperate to get started, to put all the problems I’d encountered in my training behind me, and get stuck into the adventure I’d been preparing myself to undertake.

Jez somehow managed to keep a conversation going single handed for the whole four hours. He covered yoga, conspiracy theories, freemen of the land, corporate greed, water filtering techniques, hydroelectric cars, drug use, the UK court system and wireless electricity. Oh yes, and he talked about mini cooper cars, property ownership and human anatomy too.

When we got to stonehouse farm Carole showed us the excellent annex/bungalow where we’d be staying. A bedroom, a shower room, and a living/kitchen/bedroom. We offloaded the bikes, changed from our jeans and shirts into the cycling shorts and tees that we’d be wearing for the next week, and Jez turned around and drove the four hours back to Martin’s house. I can only guess what topics the conversation covered on that journey.

While Martin prepared a pasta carbonara for us to eat, I borrowed his bike and rode down to the water’s edge. Tradition dictates that anyone riding coast to coast should dip their back wheel into the water in St. Bee. I’ve done it, and Martin’s bike has done it. I also selected a more permanent proof of the journey, a pebble from the beach which I intended to carry across the country with me to the other side.

Back at the B&B, my headache, which had been developing most of the afternoon, got quickly worse, and I was only able to force half of the pasta down my neck before stumbling to the bedroom and collapsing into a fitful sleep.

navigation

2010-07-07T03:37:00.002+01:00

For a trip like this, navigation is everything, and I've already proved that my sense of direction's far from perfect.
We both had compasses, Martin carried maps covering the Lake District and the North York Moors.

I had my phone.

I always knew my Nokia 5800 did a lot of stuff, but on this trip it blew me away.

I've got Alex Fischer's AFTrack software on my phone.

I loaded Ordnance Survey maps from Bing and calibrated them using satsig.net. It was time consuming, but very worthwhile.

I cable tied a cheap silicon holder to my handlebars so I could see the screen when I was riding, and,

HEY PRESTO!

I had satellite navigation which told us exactly where we were and what direction we were travelling. It even told me what speed I was doing while playing a selection of MP3s. The holder gave good shock resistance, it never fell off, and I was able to take the phone out easily on the rough off-road sections or when I wanted to make a phone call (yes, you can even use the Nokia 5800 XPressMusic to make phone calls!). A fully charged battery lasted all day, but I started every day with two charged up. Just in case.

I would never rely on just a gps for navigation; too many things can go wrong, but it turned out to be an amazing setup and saved us a lot of faffing about on windy mountain tops.

packing

2010-07-02T02:32:00.008+01:00

After a couple of days being tourists, Martin and I sat down to prepare what to take for the trip. Not wanting to double up on too many things, we laid out everything on their garden table and packed away things we wouldn't need.

I took:
frame bag, right pocket:
spare inner tube, pump, puncture repair kit, 4 links of chain, allen keys.
frame bag, left pocket:
sun cream (factor 50), camera, insect repellant.
drybag:
first aid kit, socks, boxer shorts, long sleeved cycle shirt, jogging trousers, t-shirt for sleeping.
backpack, main bag:
3-litre water reservoir, spare food (dried fruit, nuts, chocolate), waterproof jacket, waterproof trousers, travel towel, extra padding for cycle shorts, emergency bag (bivi, water purifying tabs, lighter, phone charger/light).
backpack, front pocket:
toothbrush & soap, keys, wallet, spare phone.

We both also had bar bags to keep food within easy reach.

In the end I'm not exactly sure what Martin took. He had more clothes than me and didn't take a towel, but overall I think we were carrying roughly the same weight. Martin decided at the last minute that he didn't need his hard-back book BS7671 Requirements for Electrical Installations and I was inclined to agree.

tension mounting

2010-07-01T03:25:00.003+01:00

Northern Ireland school holidays are from the start of July to the end of August, so as soon as school finished, we headed for the Larne Ferry.

A couple of days with Martin, Tiny and Co. we did holiday things and on the surface it probably looked like we were relaxing. Inside, Martin and I were raring to saddle up and start riding.

We went to Thomas Land, and went out for a family cycle, went to the beach and played in the garden. Time with the family is great, but I'm sorry to say that my mind was elsewhere.

bumbling about

2010-06-23T21:33:00.003+01:00

Once past that first hurdle my spirits lifted, and I was able to ride. Some of the descents were a little hairy – I was on my own, so I sometimes walked rather than risk injuring myself, but I was in a good mood. Following the path down from the saddle between Meelmore & Meelbeg I knew I wouldn’t have time to do more than follow the base of Slieve Meelmore, out onto the Trassey Track and back to my tent, either rejoining the section of the Ulster Way that passes the campsite, or out through the forest onto the road.

I was in my element.

There were a couple of places where the path wasn’t totally clear, but that was OK, I just kept going till I picked it up again.

There were one or two paths heading off to my left, but that was OK, I just had to keep the mountain on my left.

The sun began to set, but that was OK, I was enjoying the technical riding,

I knew where I was and I knew where I was going… until I rounded a corner and found myself looking down a valley at a large body of water that definitely wasn’t on the map. It was a very large body of water, and the people who made the map really shouldn’t have left it off. Actually, it was so big that somebody had built a dam across it and it could almost be mistaken for a big reservoir, and it definitely wasn’t on the map… unless I had strayed a little bit off the path, or missed a turn…

Map out, I realised I was looking down at Ben Crom Reservoir, and while I’d been concentrating on looking down at the technical trail I’d forgotten to look up and see the that I was actually going round the base of Slieve Bearnagh instead of Meelmore – and that it was actually getting dark.

I had the choice of working my way round Bearnagh (scary) to Hares gap and down, or backtrack and take the longer but less treacherous path between Bearnagh and Meelmore. I opted for the cautious route. Riding some, but mostly pushing. Trails that were fun at dusk on the way down became impossible in the dark on the way back up and I eventually made it to Trassey Track at about 1230.

Almost as soon as I got on the track, I looked up and watched the mist descend. The easily identifiable peaks very quickly became invisible through the pale blanket. Half an hour later and I wouldn’t have been able to find the path. I wasn’t too concerned; I had my emergency bivi, a couple of spare lights, and enough food and water to last me well into Friday. I didn’t see any reason to worry, but I was annoyed that I’d wandered so far off my planned route and that my journey home was so frustratingly slow.

My progress was hampered further by the fact that my chain had at some point bounced off the chain ring and into the gap between the ring and the frame. It was trapped there, and I couldn’t prise it out, so when I got to the path I split the chain with my chain tool and forced it through. I reconnected the chain, but I could see that some of the links were twisted. Even when the path smoothed out, I wasn’t going to be able to ride.

It was slow going, but eventually I made it to the Ulster Way marker. I started to push along the wall, but there was a group of about ten tents along the path – with litter, abandoned meals and empty tent bags scattered on the ground all around. I was annoyed with myself, I wasn’t pleased that they were camped right on the path, and I was righteously indignant that they’d made such a mess. At half past one that morning, a large angry animal bumbled through their camp… pushing a damaged bicycle. I practised my evil chuckle when they nervously called out “Who’s there? Do you hear that? What’s that noise?” I’m bad.

At nearly two in the morning I locked the broken bike to the fence out of habit, crawled into my tent, pulled the sleeping bag over me and slept till morning - woken only once by a sheep eating the tent.

In the morning, with the bike unrideable, I'd no choice but to pack up and head home. Would I have tried another ride after the marathon of the night before? I don't know, but I'm glad that chain got mangled on my practice ride rather than on the first day of the coast to coast.

worth the effort

2010-06-23T21:17:00.001+01:00

I’ve heard mixed reports about Meelmore Lodge. Some say it’s full of groups playing loud music late into the night, others say if you’re not husband, wife and 2.4 kids they’ll turn you away because they’re a ‘family site’. Some say it’s spotless, others say it’s filthy. Needless to say I had no idea what to expect. All I needed was a sheltered stretch of grass to pitch my tent, and somewhere to take a shower before I went home. What I got was as clean and comfortable a site as I’ve ever camped. Well kept grass, two toilet blocks, showers (which cost £1 a go) – all clean; friendly helpful staff, who stayed on site all night in case of trouble. Basic, but pleasant and well maintained. And I don’t think a fiver was too dear – especially when it’s so close to the mountains.

There were a couple of DofE groups, and a few hikers, but it was Thursday night, so it wasn’t busy; and the location is amazing, with an awe inspiring view of the mountains.

I fired up the trangia, and while the water boiled I pitched my tent.

I boiled up some couscous with curry powder, threw in a few raisins from my trail mix, and munched it down it straight from the saucepan while I pondered various routes on the map. Idyllic.

I planned to ride for two hours on Thursday night, and then four hours on Friday morning before heading home.

For Thursday, I thought I’d head along the Ulster way, to the path that goes up between Slieve Meelmore and Slieve Meelbeg, up into the Mournes, and then make a decision based on how long that took me.

The sun sets at about ten thirty at the end of June, but it’s light enough until nearly half eleven, so I got all cleaned up and on the bike by eight, and I was happy enough with that. I set off at my usual pace when I think there’s people watching – fast enough to get me out of breath within a couple of hundred yards – so by the time I reached the stile I was glad for the excuse to get off and push for a while. I headed off to the right – and realised riding was hard going. Sure there’s a path, but it’s about six inches wide, and it’s deep enough that the pedals would keep catching. I just couldn’t get any sort of rhythm going. I pushed a bit, tried to ride, got off, and pushed a bit more. In the end I pushed most of the way round the base of Slieve Meelmore, and when I looked up at the saddle between the two mountains I realised I’d just pushed the easy bit.

Undaunted, I pushed on.

All those authors who use that phrase in their books, they don’t usually mean it quite as literally as I do here.

There were one or two places where I thought to myself “I could probably ride this section, but I need to conserve my energy for that vertical bit up ahead”

“If I clear the lip of the saddle by 9pm… just after 9pm… a quarter past nine… half nine… I’ll still be able to get back to camp before it gets dark.”

I finally got over the wall just after half nine, and it was beautiful. The orange sun low in the sky behind me highlighted every white granite boulder and black peaty crevice against the green carpet that stretched over a mile across the valley floor to Cove, Doan and Slievemalagan. Everything was utterly still, not a soul in sight and in the shelter of the wall there wasn’t a breeze.

I love the Mournes.

Yes OK, I know that’s not exactly what I said in my last post, but occasionally, just occasionally I reserve the right to change my mind about these things.

The plan

2010-06-23T18:57:00.003+01:00

Beginning to panic with my lack of off road experience, I booked Friday off work.

I packed my £10 Lidl tent, Alpkit Aeric, sleeping bag and trangia and took the car in to work on Thursday, with the bike on the rack.

I never really liked the Mournes, preferring the silent barrenness of the Antrim Hills or even the Sperrins to the well trodden paths and constant foot traffic I’ve always experienced in the past in the Big Mournes. I’ve heard people say it’s impossible to get lost in the Mournes because there are so many landmarks and they’re so compact, but I’m not that familiar with them so I dug out the compass and chucked it and a map into my bag along with my usual emergency kit that I take for canoeing. (though I did leave out the snorkel vest that I keep as a backup buoyancy aid) and enough food to keep me going, and headed off.

Alex wasn’t too pleased at me leaving her to look after the wains while I disappeared off on an overnighter, but there was no good time to go and I had to get some experience before the big ride. That’s probably why I didn’t leave a proper route card with her (she takes Duke of Edinburgh groups out, so she likes route cards) the other reason is that – well I hadn’t a clue where I wanted to go. I didn’t know how fast I’d ride on proper mountains and really this trip was just about getting familiar with serious mountainous terrain rather than travelling a route.

the Schedule - Overruled

2010-06-16T08:31:00.005+01:00

The Schedule said I had to do three hours on the mountain bike on Saturday. My Daughter said I had to take her to the Lough Shore. My Daughter won.

I loaded her and her brother into the bike trailer, Granda borrowed my marin, and we took the scenic route down along the river, through the castle gardens and down to the shore; ate ice cream, watched the pirate ship race, saw a demonstration rescue by Lough Neagh Rescue and lay in the sunshine.

I couldn't help but notice a girl in the crowd with her arm in a sling and a plaster cast all the way up to her shoulder looking awkward holding a wee baby. That wrist surgery's never far from my mind these days.

Martin does a lot of his training with weights on his ankles. Personally I don't see the logic in this, because the weight's balanced - so when you have to pull one weight up, the other's pushing down, cancelling out the effort. Pulling a five year old and a three year old behind you in a trailer, on the other hand, now that's a definite training enhancement.

The problem is that my straight line cycling fitness isn't my biggest worry. I really need to improve my off-road skill, so tomorrow I'm heading down to the Mournes for an overnighter, taking my new £10 Lidl lightweight tent, sleeping in my as-yet-not-used Scottish Silkworm sleeping bag liner, and cooking on... I'm not sure which of my too-many stoves I'll take.

I wonder where my compass is.

that railway

2010-06-10T12:32:00.003+01:00

I had another attempt at tracing the Randalstown-Toome railway. My strategy wasn't complicated. I rode along the road, and followed every turn off that the map said would cross the line.

The railway marks part of the western boundary of Randalstown forest, so I headed down there. On the road down I came across an unusual feature. At a guess i'd say the road over the bridge must have got damaged, so instead of repairing it, they just moved the road, filling in a path across the railway cutting and leaving the top of the bridge visible at the side of the road.

Unlike Tardree, Randalstown forest's pretty flat and featureless, and consequently isn't frequented by bikers. It is home to "World of Owls" though, which I'll have to take the wains to sometime.
I got to the point where the path is closest to the forest boundary, but it was all inaccessible through the dense trees.

At the next turn off I missed the crossing entirely because, as before, there have been houses built over it. I did find myself down near the lough though and enjoyed the view.

I'm beginning to think this railway line is totally inaccessible - and from what I've seen of it, even if I do get access it'll be totally overgrown and unrideable. Still, I've no intention of giving up.

the Elusive Half Hour

2010-06-10T11:04:00.007+01:00

I've been thinking about that elusive half hour over the last couple of weeks. One of the routes I've been taking goes up Donegore hill, home to the world's best garden centre (with the world's most expensive cafe), an ancient motte, and Santa's Western Europe reindeer relay station

I usually crest the hilltop after about fifteen minutes of riding, and after that I do believe I could tackle anything, so I'm forming an opinion that it's not the first half hour that's the struggle, it's the first big challenge. This is both good and bad. It means that when there's a difficult bit early on, that means I get into my stride early. It's bad though, because Day1 of our coast to coast ride looks like it's going to be one long challenge from start to finish. So I'll never loosen up the whole day!

technical features

2010-06-02T17:30:00.005+01:00

Neither of us are speed demons, so we spent the next hour potterng through the forest, honing our low speed technical skills. I've read that momentum gives stability. It's got to be true, because to balance on a bike at all you've got to be moving. So low speed riding over technical terrain is inherently unstable.

And with moss-covered forest floor, a multitude of technical features lie totally concealed.

(you know where i'm heading with this, don't you?)

Even entire tree stumps have been known to become completely invisible when covered in sphagnum.

OK, so I fell off.

Over the handlebars, facing back to where Martin was coming behind me, the reflector on my handlebars shattered and bits of plastic flew past my head as my face brushed the tree stump on the way down.

Martin was looking me in an interested sort of way.... "Why're you coming back this way?" he thought.
I thought "I wonder is that shoulder dislocated?" so I calmly said "Martin, is there any chance you could please assist with disentangling me from this wreckage?"

so he did, and we rode on. Apart from the smashed front reflector (waste of space anyway) there was no damage to the bike. My shoulder was sore for a few days, but nothing serious.

Motorbikes and Volcanic ash

2010-06-02T15:11:00.005+01:00

Martin's a bit of a motorbike enthusiast, so he flew over for a few days to watch the North West 200. I got home from Chicago on the Saturday, so we all watched the races together. On Monday, volcanic ash meant their flight home wasn't until 7pm, so Martin borrowed Alex's bike and the two of us headed for Woodburn forest.

I've wanted to ride there since I caught sight of the triple reservoir a few years ago from the air. It's also popular with local riders.
After my experiences on the extreme flat of the plains, I was struggling up the hills. Actually I found myself struggling to keep pace travelling downhill as well. And on the flat. Martin made a comment about the first half hour being hard work before your body loosens up, but I just grunted "no!" because I wasn't loosening up, and I couldn't understand why.

We kept going for half an hour or so, and when I stopped for a break I lifted my back wheel and gave it a spin. It didn't. Looking a bit closer we realised that the brake was jammed on. I think it must have been when I refitted the wheel after I got that puncture and Jed gave me a lift home. I've never touched disc brakes before. I'd read about them in the Haynes manual, but never touched them. Reluctant to look foolish in front of Martin, I dropped the wheel out twiddled and twisted and - actually they're not that complicated. I got the pad so it wasn't touching the disc and couldn't believe the difference! It was like the bike was 10kg lighter.

we rode on, and I had no bother keeping up. Maybe it wasn't the brakes. Maybe it was that elusive first half hour.

"trail"

2010-05-08T14:29:00.000+01:00

A few posts back I put up a photograph of what the locals in Tardree consider to be a good trail. Downhill on a 30% gradient, barely wide enough between the trees to fit your handlebars, and since that's not enough of a challenge, they added dropoffs and jumps to make it more interesting.

After work today I used the Chicago Bike Trails website to find a trail and keep up my training. I know the cliche says they do everything bigger and better over here, so I was hoping there'd be something within my skill level.

When I got to the start of the trail I remembered some of the other cliches about the US of A.

There's the story about an American who visited Belfast, couldn't find the Highway, so he had to drive down some back street called the M2;

And there's the Texan who took three days to drive across his ranch in his car. (I had a car like that once).

This bike trail was wider and better surfaced than most of the main roads round where I live. It was also unbelievably flat. Where I'm staying is on the Great Lakes Plain, so the whole area is flatter than a flat-footed flat-cap wearing flat bloke with a flat tyre in a block of flats. It's flat. No hills.

It was a pleasant ride though. lots of trees and squirrels and deer, sunshine filtered through the leaves and not a soul out but me.

where to now?

2010-05-07T14:04:00.000+01:00

One of the reasons I wanted to go to a bike shop was to get advice on where best to ride. I knew the hotel was in the middle of a forest, but I've no idea about laws regarding haring off between the trees - and coming from Ireland, I'm also pretty ignorant about wildlife. We don't even have moles, voles, weasels or toads in Ireland, never mind snakes, bears or brown recluse spiders.

Again my colleagues helped me out. Tim directed me to http://www.chicagobiketrails.net/trails.htm which has a trail going right past the hotel door!
He also reassured me that I am unlikely to be mauled, poisoned or eaten alive by the local beasties. That's a relief.

Howdy folks!

2010-05-06T13:30:00.000+01:00

I’m in the USA now, staying in a hotel. A picture says a thousand words, so this picture is my explanation of why I don't like hotels. I had to come here for work for two weeks. You’ll be thinking I’m a real jetsetter with all these journeys abroad, but honestly I’m not, and I was worried it’d really upset my training schedule.

Work offered to hire a bike for me if it didn’t cost "too much", so I phoned GlenBrook cycles and got prices.

1 day - $40,

one week - $150,

two weeks - $300.

Apparently, because the car rental costs less than half that amount, $300 falls into the “too much” category.

The dude in the shop (I’m going all American after only a week here) said I’d be far wiser to buy a bike for $300 and dump it when I’m done, so I came planning to do something like that – maybe find a second hand one or something.

People here are really nice; especially when you consider that they’re training us up so that we can take their jobs from them.
When I got here, Sheri, with whom I’m working, phoned her husband and said “Is yower baiyke ay maowntayne baiyke?!” Apparently his response implied that he believed his cycle would meet my requirements and she brought it into work the next day.

It’s a mountain bike only in the very loosest sense of the word, probably cost about $70 when it was new, but it’s not costing me anything, and it’s well set up and it’s been well maintained (read “never used”)I should have taken a picture of it, but I didn't, so here's a photo of the bikes that are dotted round the company for people to use when travelling between buildings.

tardree

2010-04-30T15:04:00.000+01:00

I'd often heard that Tardree is the place to go for mountain biking. Jed mentioned it when I was talking to him too, so I decided to head up there to get some technical practice in. I went with some trepidation - I don't consider myself particularly skilled, and from all the talk I expected the place to be teeming with semi-professionals laughing at my bumbling efforts, and then demonstrating the sort of skills I should really have. As it turned out, I arrived and the place was deserted.

I started off trying the southern forest, Carnearny mountain, but it was ridiculously steep. I rode as much as I could but there was a fair proportion of pushing. I've been finding that it takes me a while to get into the swing of things at the start of a ride, and after an hour or so, I can tackle sections that earlier looked impossible. My ride on Carnearny was cut short because the forestry commission have thoughtlessly cut down big sections of trees right across the track.

I headed back across the road to Tardree mountain, and investigated. I've been walking there many times, but this time I was alert, looking for tyre tracks leaving the main path off into the tres. Dozens of them, most of them terrifying, and I always seemed to be going up a trail that was designed for coming down at 70mph. You have to look closely at the picture, but there's a trail in there between the trees, with manmade jumps and dropoffs. I took a break after an hour to chat to a couple of bikers who arrived in a van. "We've never been here before so we're here to take a look"
That was supposed to be my line.
After a five minute break I rode on, and the impossible ascents were becoming doable. Then, I was turning off the path onto a trail, when my foot slipped off the pedal. The pedal banged into my calf and scratched it - at least I assumed it was a scratch until I looked down a couple of minutes later. My skin must have been at full tension when the pedal caught it, because it looked like it had exploded (the photo's from over a week later). It wasn't very sore, so I covered it and taped it, and kept riding. I usually do carry a first aid kit, but that's the first time I've needed it. Then I met up with another biker. I was trying to ride up a hideous ascent and he came up behind me. I stopped to let him past, and he said
"Oh, no don't wait for me, this is my first time here and I was following you because you looked like you knew where you were going"
That was supposed to be my line.

So with him watching me, the hideous ascent was definitely no match for my superior skills.

The cuts on my leg got infected and the doctor put me on antibiotics - which have some ... side effects - but it wasn't painful, I think I don't have very good pain receptors, so didn't stop me riding to work later in the week.

bad-good

2010-04-20T09:55:00.003+01:00

I got the wains to bed early last night so I could go out for an hour before the sun went down.

Maybe I should reword that.

I got the wains to bed early so they'd be more alert today, better able to concentrate, have better skin, and to boost their intelligence. As a complete coincidence that also gave me time for an hour's ride before sunset.
Just near home, so no need to burden myself down with tools or anything.

I started out on the track along the sixmile water (the dirt track, not the tarmac'd mill race trail) and I was happy. Not a perfect ride by a long way, but flowing pretty well, picking out good lines, succeeding where I often fail.

You can probably write the next line without my help, but I'll write it anyway.

I got a puncture.

I decided to push it to a gap in the trees and walk out through the technology park. Coming out at the dirt jumps, it looked deserted, until I rounded one of the ramps and saw "Bloke with Spade" He couldn't help me with the flat, but we got talking.
His name's Jed, and he's a qualified architect; but riding bikes is much more important, so he works in a bike shop (chainreaction cycles) and spends his spare time riding, or preparing to ride.
He and his mates started building the dirt jumps fifteen years ago, and they're still improving them. The most recent jumps are over six feet high, but it's impossible to get up enough speed to use them, so last night he was out, adjusting other jumps and berms improving the angles, raising heights, determined to do what's currently impossible.

I've noticed this about mountain biking. It's an old-style sport. There's no pleading for government grants, demanding council action, begging money off other people so you can pay somebody to do something. Mountain bikers the world over are only too happy to get off the bike, lift the spade out of the car, and do the work themselves.

I never did get to complete my ride, but I gave Jed a hand and he gave me a lift home. I'm glad I met him.

hard - easy

2010-04-19T15:38:00.005+01:00

Took a different route home on Friday. It's a route between Cave Hill and Divis Mountain that's rather steep in places. I'd been looking at it on the map and daring myself to try, but never plucked up the courage. Then on Friday I took a wrong turn and was half way up the hill before I twigged where I was (my sense of direction's not the best).

Actually it's not that bad, and the view of the city from the top is pretty good. If the Pennines aren't a lot steeper I'll feel cheated; and the fact that all the climbing's out of the way at the start with a long descent for the rest of the journey makes it my quickest route home, so I'll probably be going that way again next time I ride home from work.

wet

2010-04-19T15:24:00.003+01:00

I've been getting some proper off-road riding in over the last couple of weeks. Took my mate Evan with me one day, but he's normally a fully fledged lycra-clad road rider, so the whole idea of skipping over wet tree roots, letting go down a 45º slope with a tree blocking the path, and riding through the British Isles' largest freshwater lake was sort of new to him.

Actually I've never had to ride through Lough Neagh before. It'd been a wet weekend and the lough had swollen so it covered the track almost a foot deep. Quite spectacular with the sun filtering through the trees, flickering off the water and us trying to guess where the track would have been if we'd been able to see it. Not the first time I wished I'd had a camera.

hunting for routes

2010-03-31T09:06:00.009+01:00

Around my local area there are loads of leisurely cycle routes, and a few well trodden mountain bike trails. That's all very well, but I really do like to explore, to find out new things, to go places where nobody's been for a long time, and to believe I've achieved something slightly different.

I was looking for a suitable new route on the map when I noticed that there's a dismantled railway running from Randalstown to Toome. There's not much information available about it on the internet (which is good from an exploration point of view) except that it originally went from Randalstown to Cookstown, was built in 1856 and closed sometime around 1959. On the map it does run all the way to Cookstown, but there are significant sections missing.

The most obvious monument to the railway's existence is the amazing viaduct in Randalstown, so I started there. The viaduct is now part of one of those leisurely cycle routes and it just joins up with the main road, the original railway having had houses built over it. Following the route on the map a bit further
I did find part of the railway, at the point indicated by the blue arrow, but by that time it was dark. Looking down on it from above, by the light of my bike light, it looked like impenetrable jungle. I couldn't even see through the trees to get an idea whether there would be a rideable track on the ground.

My curiosity has been aroused, so I'll go back later and see how much of this dismantled railway is accessible. Who knows, I might find out new things and achieve something slightly different.

what a week!

2010-03-29T12:36:00.005+01:00

I rode to work on Monday - it took an hour and a half in the rain, and I got drenched. I was wearing my spd shoes which I haven't done for a while. They make the pedalling easier, but it was a bad choice of day to start using them - they're about as waterproof as a mosquito net.
On Wednesday my schedule said I had to do some cross training so I swam in the Mediterranean and ran on the beach in Larnaca for half an hour. I wish I'd had a mosquito net there - I've got some impressive bites.
Then yesterday I did two hours on the mountain bike, riding along the sixmile water, Rae's wood, Antrim's castle gardens, the cycle path to Randalstown, before riding home in the dark.

What's that I hear you say? Larnaca? Oh, yes. I'd some business to do in Cyprus, so I flew out on Tuesday and back on Sunday. It certainly made Wednesday's cross training a bit more pleasant.

self supported

2010-03-22T12:21:00.004Z

I splashed out and bought Tim Woodcock's "book" on the coast to coast ride. I put book in inverted commas because it's more of a short log with some hand-drawn maps and advice on how to prepare and undertake an off road coast to coast ride. It's still good though.

I said from the beginning that this ride was to be self supported. I assumed that would mean we'd have to camp out at least some of the time, which is why I've got whole posts dedicated to what kit would be best for a night in the wilds.

Having read Tim's book and some others, and watched a few youtube videos of a group tackling the route, I'm beginning see what Martin's been telling me for weeks:

This ride isn't across Canada. It's not even across Scotland. In fact, if we were cycling across wee Ireland we'd probably want to be prepared to camp out at least once; but this ride is across England.

I don't know much about England, but it would appear from what I've read and seen that there's a country pub, or a youth hostel, or a bed and breakfast perched on every available flat surface.
People in England don't carry food or water when they travel, they just wait until they're hungry and pop into the next pub they pass to eat a hearty lunch (with ginger beer and lashings of whipped cream, if some of the books I've been reading are accurate) before setting off to continue their adventure.
In fact if my new, better informed, vision of England is correct, we'll have to choose our routes carefully to avoid crashing into youth hostels and pubs on our way down from every inaccessible peak - instead of just at lunch time and at night when we want to crash in the "falling into bed after a physically exhausting day" sense of the word.

This is a bit of a weight off my mind - and my bike - and it means we'll be able to enjoy the exceptional off-road riding better than if we were carrying sleeping kit, pots, pans and food.

I might still squeeze a proper self-supported overnight journey into my training though.

the things you remember.

2010-03-17T14:22:00.007Z

I already said I found Gideon's green today, That's not the only place I discovered.
Cycling through Duncrue Industrial Estate, Of course I got lost, but I found a few ancient dry docks and hundred-and-fifty-year-old shipping warehouses that have been converted to offices.
It's easy to forget that in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Belfast was a major player in the Industrial Revolution, home to the world's biggest shipbuilders (Harland & Wolff employed 35,000 people), the world's largest rope works, and was the largest linen producing centre in the world. Shorts was the first aircraft manufacturing company in the world. Sirocco Works (once the largest engineering plant in the world) was the place where Air Conditioning was first developed in its current form, and the Royal Victoria Hospital was the first building in the world to have air conditioning installed.

Red & yellow brick, white granite, and green copper - Belfast is actually quite interesting. I wonder if there's a self-guided city cycle tour. Maybe I could create one.

hallucinations

2010-03-17T13:07:00.005Z

I decided to come in a slightly different route to work today.
I knew that there's a cycle path along the side of the M2, so I thought I'd have a look for it. From Glengormley, I headed down towards the lough, turned onto the shore road towards Whiteabbey. I wasn't quite sure how to get across the railway line and the motorway to reach the cycle path, but I ducked under the first bridge I found, out into Gideon's Green, which I'd never seen before. Then along a path where there's another bridge going under the M2. Surprisingly simple.

I was just up to speed when a hefty redheaded girl came up behind me ting-tinging her bell and forced me to swerve towards a dog-walker as she bombed past on her Raleigh. at first I was a bit miffed that she was going faster than me, but then I realised she cycles the way my mother-in-law drives - get to top gear as soon as possible and leave it there no matter how much the engine labours.

I soon reeled her in on the next incline and pulled alongside for a chat. "Hello" says I. she glanced at me and said nothing. "Beautiful day". silence. It was the strangest thing. She completely blanked me. As we rode along, side by side, beautiful scenery, lovely weather, not another soul in sight, she just kept pedalling as if I wasn't even there. When we got to the end of the path she stopped, turned and headed back the way we'd come. Maybe she wasn't real. Maybe I'd had too much lucozade sport.

seeking sanctuary

2010-03-17T12:39:00.003Z

On Thursday I had to burn a pile of DVDs for the women's organisation in church - but I was also scheduled to do 30 minutes cross training.
I'm an inventive soul, so I decided to combine the two.
Our church buildings are a modern sort of design, with the meeting house, two halls and various rooms all joined by corridors around a central atrium.
It takes our DVD printer about two minutes to print an image onto a disc.

I decided to find out how many times I could run round the corridors before a disc had fully printed.

So Disc in printer, press the start button, out the door, down 3 steps , along the corridor, through the corridor's swing doors, down 4 more steps, through the doors at the back of the main hall, left, along the long wall of the hall, through the hall's side door, fast as I could run past the kitchen and up the longest corridor, sharp left past the entrance to the sports hall, past the Committee room on the right and Session room on the left, up the 5 steps and round the decorative woodwork and up the three steps into the meeting house.

The disc had loads still to print, so the next disc I did two circuits, then three, then four and finally five. so if anybody ever asks you, it's possible to run round our church buildings five times between loading discs into the printer.

45 minute road cycle

2010-03-08T16:37:00.004Z

The training schedule called for a 45 minute road cycle on Saturday. It worked well, because I'd a meeting in Ballyhenry church, which is 11 miles (or 45 minutes) away. Perfect.

Of course when you ride for 45 minutes in one direction there's no option but to turn round and ride another 45 minutes to get home.

hard decision

2010-03-03T11:54:00.003Z

I made a hard choice this week. The padwork in kung fu hurts, and not in a good way. I can't punch hard because on the impact I can feel the bones in my wrist crunch. Another problem I found is that my wrist's limited range of motion means I can't even be a decent sparring partner.

I've given it up.

It's a pity because it was a good way to get an hour's workout into the week, and the circuits were challenging, and I could feel my body getting used to it.

On the bright side, the nights are getting shorter, so there's more opportunity to ride.

I've a bit of a hamstring niggle after Monday's effort, so tomorrow's cross training will be mostly upper body work.

ill advised

2010-03-03T11:09:00.003Z

On Monday, with the ba in tow I decided to take a shortcut home along a section of singletrack that I usually ride when I'm starting out for a quick evening ride. Normally it's mostly down hill and I'm usually on the mountain bike. On Sunday I was taking it up the hill on the hybrid with the trailer behind me.

It was hard going, with the wheel spinning in the mud and branches slapping against me and the trailer, the ba looking round her totally bewildered, thinking I'd lost my mind. Every time a particularly big branch cracked against the trailer I'd look round to check she was OK. She wasn't fazed, just sitting there taking it all in.

At the top of the track when I was turning out onto the road I looked around and asked her if she was OK. She looked me in the eye, gave me a wee nod, and we went on our way.

rebel yell

2010-03-01T22:57:00.006Z

I was off work today, and got left holding the baby - literally.
So I bundled her up, plonked her into the bike trailer and headed off.
the attachment for the trailer's on my hybrid bike, so I ignored the training schedule's 15 minute off-road ride (15 minutes? that's not training! it's a nip down the shop to buy a pint of milk!) and opted for a longer ride, mostly on paved paths. I must've ridden for over an hour with the ba sitting happily taking in the world around her; and dragging a steel trailer behind has got to be considered good training.
There's a new sign up by the sixmile water trail which looks something like this:
Now I find that offensive.
Can we please have a sign that says "No Walking" too? or "No Breathing"?
What I find most annoying is that I'll only see the sign when I'm plodding along on my retro road bike causing nobody any harm - in this case with a one-year-old in tow.
When I'm tearing up the singletrack along that stretch of river, being a menace to society and risking the life and limbs of myself and all who may be unfortunate enough to come across me, the chances are that I'll get there along some rabbit track through the trees and burst out on any unsuspecting passers-by without ever passing one of those detestable notices.

today I disobeyed the sign. I hope I haven't introduced my infant child to a life of crime and rebellion against authority.

spooky

2010-02-25T23:42:00.004Z

I went for a night ride along the sixmilewater river last night. Not far, just five miles or so. I was on my hybrid bike, so I didn't venture too far off the path. The only lights were from my bike and the only sounds were the water and the wildlife. I even heard a fish jumping in the mill race. I reckon the best things to do to relax are simple, but require your full attention, like juggling, or flying a kite. Night riding off road definitely fits into the same category. Because it was so dark, I found myself using sounds and smells for navigation almost as much as my sight.
I'll definitely be doing some more of that - next time I'll take the marin.

it's all worked out beautifully

2010-02-23T10:22:00.006Z

On Friday I'd another appointment to get my splint adjusted, So I took the bike on the train again and rode there. Bit better prepared this time, I had canterburys on and a couple of geobars in my pocket, but I left my bottle of water on my desk in work.
When I was about a quarter of a mile from the OT's I felt the dreaded rumble.
Flat tyre.
No repair kit.
15 miles from home.

Pushing the bike, I was trying to think where the nearest bike shop was, when I almost walked past this:
"Can you fix a puncture?"
silly question to ask in a puncture repair shop.
"you'll have to leave it" they said.
"I'll be back in an hour" I said;
and crossed the road to see Ali for my appointment. After my appointment I picked up the bike, gave them a fiver and rode the rest of the way home. Couldn't have planned it better.

knew I wouldn't keep it up

2010-02-23T10:03:00.006Z

So it would appear that my regular entries to the old blog are slipping. I'll bring you up to date. Friday two weeks ago I took the bike on the train to work, then cycled home. I wasn't properly prepared - I was wearing jeans and boots, and I didn't have any water or food with me. I know it's only 25 miles, but there's no point making life harder than it has to be.

Coming out of the city it's uphill for the first few miles. I was tootling along, pleased with myself that I wasn't off and pushing (OK so it's not that steep) when a man in his seventies whooshed past me on a racing bike. Boy did I feel inadequate. I caught up with him at the lights and he slowed down so we could chat. He was 'winter training' but on his good bike because apparently there's a race next week. He told me I should do some charity cycle at the end of march, because it's for all abilities. Of course I promptly forgot where it is. Then he recommended a quiet road that'd take me home and hared off into the distance.

Maybe when I'm in my seventies I'll suddenly become that fit.

fits like a glove

2010-02-15T15:56:00.007Z

Yet another appointment for my wrist, this time with an occupational therapist to make a 'gauntlet'.

Ali Hunter is the OT extraordinaire. She asked all the usual questions, then she actually measured my range of movement and grip strength. She's the first person to have done it properly with all the tools, and even I was surprised at how bad my right wrist is. I was certain, even though it's sore, that my right hand was significantly stronger than my left; turns out it's quite a bit weaker.

The aim of the gauntlet is to take the weight off my ulna (and therefore my TFCC) when I'm riding.

Ali then took a sheet of thermoplastic, cut it to size, melted it (at 65○C apparently) in an electric frying pan like my mum used for cooking in the caravan.
She'd been thinking quite a bit about how best to make a splint specifically to wear while riding the bike, so she cut a tiny hole in one end and draped it all over my arm, with my thumb through the hole. She held it in place, with my wrist at the angle I usually hold it while riding, and the end of the splint along the palm where the handlebar will sit.
The plastic cooled in shape and Ali took it and did some cutting, cleaning up and added some padding in a very fetching pink colour. I just don't understand why medical companies think bright pink makes things invisible. I even looked it up online thinking it was just that Ali only had one colour. Nope, it's called Hapla Fleecy web, and it only comes in 'flesh' colour. Let me tell you, medical experts, if your flesh is that colour you need to go and see a doctor quick smart. It's never going to be invisible, so they could at least make it a less embarrassing colour.
With a couple more minor adjustments, she added Velcro straps and away I went.

It's very comfortable and it does hold my wrist firm while I'm riding. Haven't tried it on singletrack yet, but bunny hopping up and down kerbs last night at 25mph I was able to pretty much forget I was wearing it.

Winter training

2010-02-15T15:50:00.003Z

Kung fu has been getting easier week by week. Not only have my muscles been getting more used to the upper body exercise, but also the classes have been better balanced. Another couple of weeks of pad work and circuits before ritchie plans to step up to the next level of cardio fitness. Can't wait(!)
On the downside, all the padwork is not good for somebody with perforated wrist ligaments and osteoarthritis (did I mention the MRI shows i've got arthritis?) I strap-em up tight and try to punch fast rather than hard, so I'm still hanging together.

hot stuff.

2010-02-03T12:57:00.007Z

I got gas and tried out my Coleman Outlander stove this week. I plan to take the kids camping in May or June for a night or two at a time, so it'll get a proper try-out then. It lights easy enough with the firesteel (sparks drop down from a firesteel so it's safer than a lighter and won't blow out like matches) and burns fiercely. The adjuster knob doesn't reduce the flame until the last quarter turn, but with a wee bit of practice I should be able to get anything from roaring furnace to simmering warmth.

I fancy a primus eta power pot, but i'll have to measure the stove's pot supports to make sure it'll fit.

All that gear - will I be fit to use it?

2010-02-03T12:57:00.006Z

I've been recovering slowly from last week's kung fu; a proper warm up and warm down would have helped. If it wasn't for the long term goal I'm sure I wouldn't go back, but if I don't go back then I've basically lost a week of training because I've been in too much pain to go for a long ride - just the usual short commute. Normally I'd ride to prayer triplet on Mondays, but this week i'd another meeting before it and it was raining and I had to put the wains to bed. (excuses, excuses, excuses, I know)
Hopefully I'll be in better shape after the training tomorrow and can fit in some proper rides next week.

but it was a bargain...!

2010-02-03T12:24:00.005Z

I bought a silk sleeping bag liner off ebay from the Scottish Silkworm.
It's a pretty basic bag, sort of tapered a bit to help it fit in a mummy bag, double-stitched down the sides with a bit left unstitched at one side to make it easier to get in and out and a flap for a pillow. It looks well enough made. That's a description, not a review. There's no point me reviewing it until I've used it.

those cats were fast as lightning

2010-01-29T09:16:00.003Z

Training this far ahead of the the event, the aim is to improve general fitness. I'm not getting enough time in the saddle to make a huge difference, so I decided to do some cross training. Ritchie Walker, one of the guys from work is running a 10-week kung fu fitness course, so I signed up. I thought it'd be full on kung fu fighting, but it's just using the punches and kicks from kung fu to improve fitness. Perfect.

Yesterday was the first day, and we started off with chain punches. I counted up, and we did more than 2000 punches in the first ten minutes as a 'warm up'. For me, whose strength and endurance are all in my legs, this was a real eye opener. I have NO upper body strength. After the chain punches I went to take a drink of water and couldn't lift the bottle to my mouth. I'm not exaggerating. I couldn't lift the bottle to my mouth.

Then we went on to learn a variety of punching and kicking combinations. First day, so I spent more time learning the techniques rather than actually working out during this part, but I know Ritchie, so I'm under no illusions; from next week those chain punches really will be just a warm up.

Ten weeks of this will either kill me, or it'll turn me into a killer fighting machine, and riding from St. Bees to Robin Hood Bay will seem like a bit of a rest.

any fool can be uncomfortable

2010-01-25T09:59:00.013Z

When people say "Any fool can be uncomfortable" they're implying that the intelligent among us put in a wee bit of effort and find a way to be comfortable wherever they are.
Usually when people utter that phrase (in their knowledgeable tone of voice) they're talking about sleeping or sitting down; but I'm thinking I'll be spending two thirds of the day in the saddle and only one third in my bed, so it's more important to be comfortable while pedalling than while sleeping.
That means our camp has to be as light as possible. I already said I hefted our McKinley Katmai 3 tent when I was first thinking about gear, and decided 3kg is too much. So I've been thinking about how to go lighter.

Everybody who has one gives rave reviews for the Argos Pro Action Hike Lite one man tent. They're currently listed on the Argos website as £15.99 which is a steal, considering they used to be £50, and their nearest competition still costs nearer £100. I would buy one at £15 even if we weren't planning this trip, but they're not available for home delivery and there's not a single store in Northern Ireland, eastern Scotland, North East England or the Peak District (all the places where I've got friends who'd be willing to pick one up and send it on to me) that still has one in stock. It also weighs a couple of kilos, so it's probably heavier than we'd want to be carrying anyway.

I have one of those orange survival bags. Alex once spent the night in one in February, in the snow, in Ballypatrick forest, and she insists I don't need anything else. I'm not convinced. They're windproof and waterproof, I know, but they are completely not breatheable, and they're really slippery, and they might be OK for surviving an emergency uplanned one night out (that's what they're designed for), but we are planning to be out for nearly a week and I don't want to wake up every morning drenched in my own sweat.

My original reaction was to get an Alpkit Hunka. I do like Alpkit - I like any tiny company that takes on the big guys and wins, especially when their stuff's good quality and cheap. but I realised that I've not looked into what makes a good bivy bag, and what else is available. Time for more in-depth internet browsing.

There appear to be two main types of Bivi. One is like a mini tent with hoops to hold the fabric off your face. Those are generally more expensive and heavier than the other type - which is really just a waterproof sleeping bag cover.

Of the sleeping bag cover types, prices range from £2.99 for the emergency bag, to several hundred pounds for goretex or eVENT fabrics. The variables seem to be (in no particular order)
1. waterproofness - to keep the rain out
2. breatheability - to let sweat and breath condensation out
3. weight - as light as possible
4. price - My total budget is definitely less than £50 - hopefully much less.
5. abrasion resistance - it has to withstand me lying on it.
and some bags have extra features like built in stuff sacks, hoods etc.

Without going into all the details of every bag I looked at, the strongest contenders are the Hunka, from Alpkit, the MSR Fast and Light, and the Rab Survival Zone. Quechua also do a Bivi bag for £20 that looks quite acceptable, but there are no Decathlons in Northern Ireland. They all weigh around 400g, and all seem to get good reviews. I'm never keen to spend too much money, and they're all close to the top of my price range (though Alex would say they're all about £35 over my budget)

I do have one more option though. A while ago I was browsing and I came across a shop called Point North who sell 'performance fabrics'.
I was thinking coated ripstop Pertex on the top with 2oz PU coated Nylon on the bottom, all seams sealed, and maybe a hood with a drawstring cord as well. this would give me the same features as a pretty expensive bivi bag, it'd weigh aroung 250g, and the whole lot would come to less than £25 including postage. There might even be enough nylon left over to make a micro tarp to keep rain off my face. This is a tempting option, but I'm always thinking about stuff like this and I rarely ever get around to doing anything about it.

Result!

2010-01-21T16:27:00.004Z

Mr Swain, the orthopaedic hand surgeon, phoned me at home last night with the results of my MRI scan.
The bad news is that I've got a perforated TFCC, a ganglion and a perforation in my scaphoid cartilage.
Since I've got no pain on the radius (thumb) side of my wrist, we can ignore the scaphoid 'problem'.
The ganglion and the TFCC issues would be solved (probably - there's no certainties with wrist surgery) with ulnar shortening. That's the operation where they break my arm and bolt it together again. It's supposed to be really really painful, but then after you recover from the surgery the odds are very good that everything will be near normal.

The good news is that he agreed to let me just get on with the training until I can't stand it any more, and do the operation then. That might be never, but somehow I think I'll throw in the towel within a year if it stays as bad as it's been lately.

Second gear

2010-01-20T16:45:00.004Z

We need to carry our gear in something.

I've got three backpacks designed for the bike - I know I can only wear one at a time, but let me finish.

1. I've a Hydrapak Big Sur that came with a 2.5l water reservoir. I'll use the reservoir, but the bag itself is a bit small for a 5-day trek.

2. my old Jack Wolfskin Stinkfoot. Excellent bag with a pocket at the front; a big secure flap for a helmet, but I've used that for everything from shoes to shopping; and a big main compartment for everything else. I used it every day for nearly ten years and it's taken shocking abuse, but it's still in pretty good condition. If Martin needs a bag I can lend him that.

3. Deuter Bike 1. I got it on the cycle to work scheme last year and use it every day instead of stinkfoot. The back breathes better, and it's got a couple of mesh side pockets, a pocket for the water reservoir and a waterproof cover. It's very well designed and it seems to be standing up well to the way I treat it.

I don't intend to carry everything myself. Not when I've a bike beneath me. I have a rack that should fit the bike, I chose one that would fit with disc brakes although I haven't tested that claim yet.
Originally I thought panniers, but surely they'd get in the way on rougher terrain.
I checked out what other people do.

In Alaska they have multi-day mountain bike races on the Iditarod trail, and most of the riders seem to use Frame bags from Epic Designs. Genius idea. I actually have an old frame bag, but it's a tiny thing, just big enough for a spare tube and a mobile phone. Then I was reading a story on Alpkit's website and saw this picture! Of course it's a prototype, but I wrote to them anyway, asking if I could at least test it. They'll probably say no. I wonder if my sister could throw one together - postage is a bit much from Alaska.

I'll also bungee a drybag to the rack.

How much carrying space I need depends on how much we take, and I'm hoping to pare that down to the bare minimum.

map reading skills

2010-01-19T15:28:00.010Z

The blue line is the route I planned to take from Castlerock train station, a wee stop in Articlave and then bomb down the main road to catch the next train home. It's got great views, steep hills, a couple of offroad sections and a reservoir that I could stop to look at. I stopped to buy a pastie in Castlerock before I started, stuck it in my bag and ate it when I got to Bishop's gate. Riding through Downhill wood I noticed that it's well used by mountain bikers, I could see tracks everywhere, but although I knew roughly what direction I needed to head, I was never quite sure where I'd pop out the other side. There were also a couple of pretty steep drops that tested my nerve (OK I failed on one occasion and walked the bike down) Again, that's the whole psycology thing. I wasn't expecting them and would probably tackle them much more confidently if I knew in advance they were coming up.

And this is the route I actually took. It's approximately the same as the plan, but my route following skills still need work. It was getting dark sooner than I expected, so I missed a lane that's marked on the map. I was also covering ground quicker than I expected. I'm a bit more used to using a map while hillwalking, so on the bike turnoffs were coming up before I expected. That's a good thing of course, so long as I don't keep riding past them. The snow didn't help either; I thought it had all gone, but once I got away from the coast and the main roads there was snow, slush and ice everywhere. The big climb wasn't too steep, but it was a long slog. Didn't cause any consternation though. I did get to the reservoir and take a picture, but it was too dark to make a trip into the forest worthwhile. Pity.

After the reservoir most of the journey was down hill, especially from Articlave to Castlerock - that's downhill all the way. I'm sorry now that I turned off the GPS, because I'm sure I was speeding coming into Castlerock.

yes

2010-01-19T15:26:00.002Z

I did ride up Lawrence Hill, and if anything it confirms my theories on psycology and hills. I knew how steep it was, I prepared myself for it and got up it no bother.

Red light district.

2010-01-13T13:06:00.000Z

Remember I said last week I had to hunt to find lights to fit my mountain bike? well obviously I didn't hunt hard enough. Last night as I was riding to the train in the dark along unfamiliar roads among rush hour traffic something bounced against my foot.
I looked round and my rear light was lying in the middle of the road. I stopped and waited for a break in the traffic so I could go and retrieve it. I watched helplessly as cars and vans passed over the top of it. I knew it was only a matter of time until something would flatten it. Sure enough, it got crunched. I stuck to the pavements as much as possible after that - I suppose you could say I was practising riding offroad.

what's on my mind?

2010-01-13T13:00:00.003Z

Saw a girl today with her arm in plaster. I wonder if she had her ulna shortened. Nah, probably just slipped on the ice.

Lawrence Hill

2010-01-12T12:08:00.003Z

I used to live in 'derry; I studied at Magee university there for a year. Part of the time I lived on Lawrence Hill, where one side of the house had three storeys, the other had only two.

If I'm to get over my fear of big hills, Lawrence Hill is the place to do it.

This week I'm taking a training course in Springtown Business Park. I'll be getting the train and riding up to the park, which includes a ride up a selection of big hills. In my mind, Lawrence Hill is the pinnacle of those.

This morning, first time here and all, I chickened out and came up Rock Road instead. It's pretty steep, but not compared to Lawrence Hill.

Maybe tomorrow.

clever mummy

2010-01-11T13:19:00.002Z

Alex had an idea.
I could use an exercise bike to work on my fitness.

hospital gowns with missing ties

2010-01-11T12:22:00.012Z

I caught the bus up to the clinic this morning and got directed through to the MRI department.
I forgot to bring my insurance details, but that wasn't a problem - just phone them through when you get back to work.

"Have you had brain surgery, heart surgery, eye surgery...?

have you ever had a job working with a metal grinder?

Are you wearing a pacemaker, hearing aid or drug infusion system...? "
The Radiographer looked at me as if I might actually be wearing a drug infusion system and just forgot about it.

then into a changing room "you can keep your T-shirt on, and boxer shorts and socks, but take off everything else."
At this point I'd like to point out that I don't like energy saving light bulbs, because my socks really did look the same colour when I put them on this morning.

The hospital gown (which contrary to popular opinion, is not open at the back) is supposed to tie with two ties at the side. Of course mine only had one. I improvised - Oh yes, I watch Gok Wan - and if I may say so myself, I made that gown look good.

Normally when I've seen these MRI scanners on the TV everybody looks pretty comfortable, lying flat on their back for what looks like a quick pass through the magic gateway. It wasn't quite like that. For a start it wasn't my brain they were scanning (keep the jokes to yourself) it was my arm, so I had to get my arm in the centre of the bed with my body hanging off the side. A bit awkward. Then I had to stay like that until she pushed the bed inside the machine - except of course the bed's a tight fit - so I had to hunch up a bit so I could actually fit inside half the Stargate tube. Uncomfortable.
So all hunched up, hanging off the side of the bed, squeezed into a smartie tube - I think I can just about hold this position for a few seconds. 25 MINUTES I was in there like that! and it might look high tech, but it sounds like you're sitting in the engine bay of a John Deere.
When she eventually let me out, I sat up and stretched my aching limbs. There was a blip and the radiographer looked worried. "power cut" she said. I didn't ask too many questions - If she didn't save the images she'll have to draw them with a pencil from memory, because I don't intend to repeat that experience in the near future.

The results should be available in about a week.

just got a phone call

2010-01-08T15:45:00.002Z

MRI scan on Monday morning

off my stride

2010-01-08T10:05:00.000Z

My base training schedule calls for a one-hour ride today or tomorrow. Given the news I got yesterday I really don't feel like it, but I'm taking a training course in 'derry next week, so I'll probably make up for it then.

So what did he say?

2010-01-08T09:18:00.002Z

He sent me for an X-ray to check for ulnar variance. Normally the head of your ulna is a bit shorter than your radius. Mine's about 2mm longer. That increases the load placed on the ulna, but also allows the ulna to compress the TFCC Triangular FibroCartilage Complex. It is likely that my TFCC is torn or worn through. This can be confirmed with an MRI scan.

(That picture's not my x-ray, but it looks similar. I hope Oregon Uni don't mind me using this)

The solution?
IF that's the problem ... he'll slice open my arm, break the ulna, shave off a couple of millimetres of bone, and bolt it back together. I'd be in plaster for 6-8 weeks, but because I cycle and canoe he'd want me to take a bit longer recovery time. Maybe 10 weeks.

All very simple and matter of fact. He does it every day.
I don't do it every day, and I thought it was a sprained wrist.

Now with the NHS I'd expect the MRI scan to be in December 2012 and the surgery to be in August 2015 (OK so maybe a very slight exaggeration there) so I'd just do this ride as normal, but Mr. Swain mentioned that IF the MRI scan shows a tear the possible date for surgery could be as soon as THE BEGINNING OF FEBRUARY!!!!! Four Weeks! 30 Days! NEXT MONTH!!

I told him about our planned coast to coast. He was confident that IF it's torn, and IF he operates in February, it could be healed in plenty of time, even allowing for minor complications, but he very sensibly pointed out that missing 2-3 months of training could scupper me for the ride. Another option he offered would be to do the surgery after the ride, but IF it needs done I think I want it done and dusted and out of the way as soon as possible.

I think I do.

Now I just have to wait for the MRI scan.
It's not the coast to coast ride I'd intended for this blog, but you've got to admit that it is mildly exciting.

NOOOOOOOoooooooo!!!!!!!!!

2010-01-08T08:59:00.002Z

Yesterday I saw an orthopædic hand specialist. I've had wrist pain for years. I went to A&E a long time ago and they checked it wasn't broken. "You've got a sprain of your triangular ligament" they said, gave me a splint to wear for two weeks and sent me home.

A sprain should get better, so although this didn't, I decided to give it a while, then I just got used to the discomfort, changed the way I do things a bit so I wouldn't have to turn my palm face up, or put pressure on that side of my wrist.

A month or so ago I sprained my thumb. It healed within two weeks and I realised that maybe the other side of my wrist shouldn't still be sore. So I did something about it.

I get health insurance through work, and this is my first time using it. For somebody used to the NHS, this is frighteningly fast.
I rang my GP two weeks ago. He recomended physio first. My first physio appointment was last Thursday - she tried some manipulation, laser treatment and ultrasound. I had another physio session on Monday (the one where I had to ride up the big hill) where she did the same, but then said "we're really only guessing what's wrong. You would be better seeing a surgeon who specialises in hands to get a proper diagnosis." Actually, unbeknown to me my GP had also written that on my notes as the next course of action. So I arranged an appointment with Mr. Swain at the Ulster Independent clinic. That was yesterday.

If I'd been going through the NHS I probably wouldn't have got referred to a physio in the first place, but if I had it'd be a 6 month wait before I saw one, then probably a month before my second appointment. Two years to see the specialist, and another year before anything was done.

dusted off

2010-01-07T13:18:00.000Z

Normally I use my hybrid for commuting; when the snow started, Alex' Giant was at the front of the rack so I lifted it down and used it for a couple of days. She's been complaining that it's not there during the day, so last night I lifted down the marin, dusted it off and spent half an hour trying to get a set of lights to fit it.
This morning I rode it to the train station through the snow. Couldn't resist cutting a few corners, bunny hopping kerbs and ploughing through the grass. It's just that sort of bike - I know it sounds daft, but it makes you a wee bit cheekier, a wee bit more daring. It makes any ride more fun.

big hills scare me

2010-01-06T13:45:00.002Z

I was riding to the physio on Monday. It looked flat enough on google maps (!), but I turned a corner and I could see the road towering above the houses up ahead. I tried to reason with myself - I've surely cycled up steeper, longer hills than this before; but try as I might, my heart was pounding, I was breathing unnecessarily hard and I couldn't bring my body under control. I had to face the embarrassment of getting off and walking the last 100m to the top.
It wasn't that the hill was too steep. I know that because I rode it on the way back without breaking a sweat. It was purely psychological - it looked so impressive stretching up in front of me, and also it was totally unexpected.
I need to get my head into shape as well as my body.

First Gear

2010-01-06T09:31:00.001Z

So what do we need to take? and how do we carry it?
At this stage we don't need to work out everything, but if we have a fair idea now we'll know what we've got and what we need to buy.

bikes.
We both have marin hardtails, though mine's a Northside Trail (less than £500) and Martin's is a Rocky Ridge (more than £1200) Both should be capable of doing the journey, but his is more capable than mine. I wonder should I get something new in next year's cycle to work scheme.
I suppose we'll have to take a couple of spare tubes and a pump between us too.

clothes.
No need to take the whole wardrobe. We both came up with similar ideas: lycra shorts (mine came from Lidl) with combats over the top, a cycle jersey, a windproof and a waterproof. My montane featherlight smock is definitely going.
Will we smell after five days? Undoubtedly.
It looks as if there will be some serious carrying done, especially on the first day, so I'll be taking proper walking shoes as well as my cycling ones.

sleeping.
sleeping bag - I've got a couple of old synthetic bags that'll do the job, I've always wanted a silk sleeping bag liner, so this is a good opportunity.
bed - no problem here, I'll nick one of the wains' Wee Airics

shelter.
I lifted our 3-man dome tent last night. It's only 3kg, but I set it down straight away. it's much too heavy; we'll have to bivouac.
Alpkit's hunka is about £30. I wonder if I could get away with just a bivvy bag and a silk liner in July in England?
I've a tarp and a few wee ponchos. I'll have to try them both to see which is best.

cooking.
I think it's fair to say the Kelly Kettle can't come. Pity.
My sister got me a great book, Moveable Feasts, for Christmas. It's got all the technical stuff about how your body processes carbohydrates, proteins and fats, it's got advice on kit for carrying and cooking food, and it's got piles of recipes.
What's really good is that the authors are normal people. They aren't trying to tell us how to dig snow holes in the jungles of Borneo using nothing more than a toothpick and a lock of hair, but neither do they try to persuade us to spend £300 on a new sort of lightweight folding spoon. It's all sensible advice that I might actually use.

Needless to say I'll be devouring (see what I did there?) this book over the next few days, but in the meantime I'm thinking the trangia's too big, my eurohike solo saucepans are too wee, but my coleman outlander is the perfect stove for the job. (I might take my homemade 7-up can stove and some meths just so I can say I've used it)

training schedule

2010-01-05T15:19:00.000Z

My regular cycling involves a short commute from home to the train station in the morning and back in the evening. I occasionally (very occasionally)ride the 25 miles into work, and maybe once a year I ride a longer route - maybe 40 miles, maybe 80, but it's never been more than 100 and it's never been off road.

My mountain bike experience is even more limited - there's some pretty technical stuff about a mile from the house that I tackle maybe half a dozen times a year, and once I borrowed Tiny's bike and Martin and I went for a blast in the peak district. I have an awful lot to learn in the next 6 months.

Plus, I'm not fit enough.

So I hunted around for a training schedule for a mountain bike event that's not too different to what we're planning. The closest and most comprehensive I could find was the website for the Merida Bikes MTB Marathon series
The marathon distance is only about a third of what we'll be covering, but it looks like a pretty detailed training plan, and most importantly, it caters for the "New to MTB rider" That's me.