A slightly disappointing start to the day when Tesco were out of almond croissants but a guilty pleasure instead of starting the day with chocolate as the substitute chocolate croissant was selected. And then there was me and the bike, in the car travelling along the motorway to the good old reliable Rivington. Which proved as much pleasure as ever, and indeed possibly more.
There's something rather wonderful about Rivington. It feels so personally mine, a quiet and solitary pleasure, something which feels like it's there just for me. A hum of belonging and love. Today, I mixed it up. Changed the route. Searched for more joy and was not disappointed. I took my normal route and reversed it. Realised that normally the hardest climbs are the knobbly ones, which is absolutely fine but somehow leads the the most glorious descents being on the road. Surely, I thought, I can do better than this on the downhill. And it proved beautifully and perfectly true. The swooping lanes I normally glide down became slightly less than unrelenting climbs, perfectly do-able and a medium challenge which mostly related to a mud induced reluctance of the bike to get into the inner ring (note to self, bike maintenance ...). And the normal climbs became rather perfect descents.
I admit to myself quietly I am attempting something you could possibly, if you were being particularly probing describe as "training". A bit of an anathema to me really. Bike riding is just that, riding, it's not training because implicit in the word training is a longer phrase of "training for ..." which does actually start to fit the bill now flights are actually booked for a MTB holiday in the Pyrenees. Me, spend consecutive days in the saddle? Long days? Oh. To properly enjoy it, I realise I should at the very least make sure I can cope with being in the saddle for longer periods, which is more a shorts and saddle issue than anything else. So I'm working on it, OK? With this in mind, I added loops to the Rivington ride.
The first loop I added in was Healey Nab, a delightful volunteer purpose built mountain bike single track run through the hillside woodland. I've never done it before because previously the Rivington route has meant that this is somewhere towards the back end of the ride and I'm always worried about how long it will take and will I survive. But doing the route backwards means it's in the first quarter, so what the hell and why not, and crack on were phrases in my head. And it was spectacularly solitary, that feeling of just you sweeping through a forest, even though you know it's a somewhat contrived trail, it feels suitably real, and indeed joyous.
Much to my own surprise I also added in a lengthy road climb. Just to have the joy of being here: Belmont Road which is a relatively flat (well, a slight incline then a slight descent) bridleway of a few miles in length. It's so knobbly there is no point trying to pick a line. The road fights the bike, the bike fights you, and it's a masochist's fest of sheer love, delight and frankly ecstasy. Somehow in my head as I ride it Nights in White Satin races through my head and leads to a crescendo of "oh how I love you" which in my mind is being sung by a chorus of increasing size because the song has to encompass a love of being, of the bike, and of the whole damn world of semi cobbled trails. Which is why I leave you with:
"Gazing at people, some hand in hand,
Just what I'm going through they can't understand.
Some try to tell me, thoughts they cannot defend,
Just what you want to be, you will be in the end.
And I love you, yes I love you,
Oh how I love you, oh how I love you."
And because I am an old burd, and this may not be familiar to many:
No comments:
Post a Comment