Here Today

19/11/12

Ah, the Mountain bike and I were reacquainted today and indeed normality ventured towards me again. Possibly that feeling bolstered by the falling off incident indeed. I started at Saint Gervais des Bains, because the ski lift car park was where I'd spent the night in this life of glamour, and made my way to Bionnay along an innocuous road, followed by Bionhassay which was a road described at the bottom in both English and French as narrow, winding and very steep. And the French do not exaggerate these things, not even usually bothering to jot them down indeed. So yes, it was interesting, more so when the occasional car came on by. From Bionhassy I went up past le Fioux and up to Col de Voza, a ski station in the season. I then bimbled up to the Hotel le Prarion with its amazing panoramic view. Then frankly I came back down again. I had intended to go via Champles and down an interesting off road descent but in honesty owing to the snow on the ground, couldn't even begin to detect where the track was. I know, I know, I had a good map, directions, a compass and Garmin and have completed a nav skills course. Still, I felt ill prepared to navigate in unknown territory in the outlying hills of Mont Blanc in the snow. So be it.

Funnily, I don't have an issue with riding in the snow particularly, it's just like mud which gives a little bit more, and of course can cover interesting things too, but it doesn't really flummox me, I've done it before.

Next stop was considering tonight and tomorrow. I'd kind of got my eye on a walk which goes from Servoz, or indeed could go from numerous other locations. Tourist offices being shut for the season in the smaller towns, I ended up in les Houches which is clearly a big ski town in the season. Tourist office man there spoke English with maybe an antipodean accent. Not a trace of French accent. I had got to the point where I felt a shower might be in order, and the thought of warm water after this morning's awakening to ice on the insides of all the van window made me just a little bit euphoric. Tourist office man it seems fobbed me off. We talked about sites which were open and which took camping cars (French terminology that). But after touring three towns and 7 campsites, I finally returned to les Houches which he had already assured me had no Aires de camping cars. The book, however says it does, but it's a E15 cost for the night. I just didn't care by this point and sought out the site. To find it closed but not so that you couldn't get in. So here I am, prepared to pay but sat here for free with free wifi too. How fortuitous is that?

Knight Rider

Yeay, a gratuitous Hasselhoff moment!  It's a flimsy fabrication of an excuse to go check out his website really, but it is I understand (for those who experience weekends) Friday night and somehow that seems like reason enough.

Actually, I went night riding last night (see how tenuous the link is), my first time ever, and as part of a group which included an off road tandem.  That takes some strength of relationship really.  Imagine the trust, and also picture just how much tandem time bickering it must have taken to get to the point where they could publicy appear on a bicycle made for two?  My limited experience of a similar situation is spending three days in a two person canoe with my ex.  Who was already my ex at the time.  Which perhaps might explain the three days of gentle bickering and provision of amusement to those with us.  Three days going down the River Wye with all our kit in a blue plastic barrel (just as I believe was used by the original indian tribes).  The difficulties over steering, where we're going, who was responsible, and hilarious (retrospectively) criticism of each other's efforts.  Any rapids were actually a welcome relief because at least then we'd both shut up and just attempt to get through them the right way up.  To ride on a tandem with a partner must be a form of living hell I suggest.  Or perhaps make or break a partnership.  Steer clear I suggest.

And the ride was endurable, although I confess I spent the entire thing in a state of severe apprehension and misgiving and general out of my comfort zone status.  Which is fine because my comfort zone is becoming a little unfamiliar these days.  I say this as I pack light for my next trip which kind of starts Monday as I meander down to my mum's in the Home Counties.  Oh yes, I am originally from Hertfordshire, be in no doubt as my estuary accent hardens itself up in readiness for a return.  A ferry to be caught with a vehicle followed by driving on the right.  And that's only the start of the newness.

And for your entertainment ...

The Edge

It's been a two bike rides sort of a weekend.  Both really different and both bloody marvellous.  And I think I only fell off once.  Well, only once that anybody saw so that's the only time that counts.  And that was pure stupidity.  I hesitate to describe the incident in which I don't feel I come out at all competent or in control.  What in fact happened, and I think I only whispered gently the truth to one of the other women on the ride, is that I was going down steps.  Happily indeed.  Quite early in the ride.  When a little voice inside my head said hey, Al, what are you doing riding down this with your forks locked.  And in the words of the ugly duckling, I looked, and I saw, and I said oh crap that's me off.  And body followed thoughts and there I was ... in a holly bush.  Prickly goodness.  But mostly it looks like I've attempted to shave my legs with a really really bad razor.  Which is OK.  And in an objective factual fashion, I have to say the holly bush was worse to land in then the gorse bushes of yester month.

And the bike ride was with a nice bunch of people and the pace was delicious and the route was kind and friendly, and the weather only bucketed down on us a little bit out there in the Peak District.  And there were moments of bonding where I attempted to rename a Martin - Tarquin (which I felt he initially embraced) and a high five between the husband of the cheesecake maker and I in our mutual distaste for said substance.  And there was tea & cheesecake at someone's unexpected home.  And don't you wish your garden looked like this.  Unusual blooms indeed.

And because today's ride was with my friend Viv and her Dad and therefore deliciously sedate in the flatlands of Delamere where we found many an interesting bit of unofficial singletrack, all of which seemed to bring us to the edge of the forest, today's tune in my kind of mellowed by tiredness head is brought to you courtesy of Lady Gaga:

"I'm on the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge, the edge,
I'm on the edge of glory, and I'm hanging on a moment with you
I'm on the edge with you"

Two feet

So, the weekend's attempt at doing my mountain bike leadership course didn't go so well.  Which is a shame because I was committed to it and had put a lot of behind the scenes work in.  I'd worked hard on making sure my log book was complete and not a work of fiction, I'd funded my two day outdoor first aid course and taken leave from work to do it, I'd read the paperwork, I'd had the bike into the bike shop to try to make sure it was roadworthy before the course, I'd paid out for the course and accommodation.  And I jibbed after day one.  For reasons both logical and emotional.  And that's enough of that.

I did, however use the Sunday to attempt to lose some of my feeling of inadequacy, the sinking realisation that I have no place on a bike due to reasons of slowness and shit skills.  And it went rather well.  Whinlatter's red run is within my ability level; there's no problem with the ascents, the roots, the drop offs.  There is a problem with the downhill sharp gravelly berms but nothing that can't be overcome by a dignified get off and walk position on the matter.  And I know it is a horrible gloating bad thing which puts me into a really bad light, but at the end of the day, I am grateful to the two fellas going up the fire road who were slow enough that I not just could overtake but really had to overtake to avoid the holdup.

And I've been brave, and had the difficult conversation on the phone with the man who ran the course, and I've provided feedback to the folk who ultimately have responsibility for the course, and have been offered a couple of options to do the second day in a less intimidating group of people.  I'll think about it.

And today my internal song is sisters are doing it for themselves. Standing on their own two feet ...

Pump Track

So there may be people out there, and in fact I may be one of those who say that a 43 year old woman has no place on a pump track.  With this thought foremost in my head, I waited until the end of the mountain bike ride on Sunday to stand on tiptoes and check out who was on the pump track at the close of the trail.  Ah, the joy of discovering the testosterone levels were completely flat.  Just one 12 year old (ish) lad there.  Fine, I can cope with being completely out performed by a child that age.  After all, it's what they are there for.

And the pump track experience was OK.  Fine, so I didn't particularly take air, but I did really try hard at getting my pump good enough to boost me up the lumpy bits and tried hard to use it to go round the berm rather than pedalling.  I even lowered my saddle.  Check me out for being the professional.

Not alone

The fourth day on the bike on holiday was finally not alone!  For three days I have kept my riding well within my safety comfort zone, afraid to push it either in terms of technical ups or downs or in terms of speed knowing that my wellbeing was solely dependent on me and that in remote areas I needed to stay safe.  Finally a day where I'm out with friends and can enjoy the freedom ... except I've done three days on the bike and I'm knackered.

So, revise that.  Finally a day where I can work hard on conserving as much energy as possible, hide behind people's wheels, do the bare minimum needed to stay up, and make careful decisions on gears, drinking and feeding.  Oh yes, that's much better.

So the fourth day was the tried and tested Llandegla after a night of camping in the pouring rain.  By 10am the weather though had brightened.  Or perhaps just stopped raining.  So off we went to the red run.  And on the technical descent bit I lost much time to the others, but hey, I didn't care, I'd carefully positioned myself at the back of the group so I didn't need to feel under pressure and could just roll along the track, and all was fine.  Between you and me I was a little shocked at how much distance I did lose here.  But hey ho, I can blame the heavy legs for sure.  Punctured the rear tyre some way into the route, and in proper Welsh fashion this was the moment the rain started to fall, and the midges started to bite.  Lovely.  Not.  Other than that, an incident free day.  With cake.

Marin challenge

So, not content with a fairly epic (in my terms) ride at Rhayader, and ignoring the very adverse weather forecasts for North Wales the Friday of my holiday was planned for the Marin Trail.  I am a woman on a mission.  I want not just to get a personal best time for the trail but I want to smash it. 

The first time I did the trail it took 4 hours.  The next time was, I think 3hrs 15 but I totally blamed this on my riding companion and his complex issue with hills.  I wanted to smash this, to prove to myself I could get up there with the better times for the trail.  In honesty I wanted 2 hours but would be happy with 2hrs 15 or 2hrs 30. 

This is the trail:

http://mbwales.com/marin_trail.aspx

As can be seen from the overall route description, 2 hours should be feasible.

So, I get to the head of trail somewhat later than anticipated due to grandad driving from cars on the long windy single carriage way A roads and dive into my sandwiches in the car park.  Best to fuel up early, I think.  In spirit of optimism, the sun comes out and I load my bike with just one single bottle.  I am going to be speedy.  Not much water required.

It starts well.  I am punishingly harsh to  myself.  Using frequent reference to watch, I refuse to stop more frequently than once every 15 minutes no matter how hard it feels, and this does indeed spur me on, and after the first couple of stops I become more comfortable with going for 30 minutes plus without break.  The trail has some diversions and this is frustrating, particularly when I fail to find the signs pulling me back onto trail and end up downhill and back uphill as I realise I have gone wrong.  It's also a little scary finding that a trail I've done before and is clearly marked still holds potential for getting lost.  Time keeps marching on.

Another side effect of being a woman alone on a trail in the midweek is the lack of other riders and walkers on the trail.  It's quite isolated and you feel very much alone.  As a result, I am noticeably more cautious about the descents, realising falling off just isn't an option, and although romping up the hills, I am meandering down the flowing woodland singletrack at sedate pace.  I am staying well within my comfort zone as far as risk taking is concerned.

The final diversion is a nightmare.  There is a cross roads where those who are 2 hours in cross paths with those who have just done the 15 minute climb out of the car park.  Yet, the diversion sign for the near completers takes them along the same direction as those who are 15 minutes in.  Surely this can't be right, there's no way off this trail, it's going to make me go round again my head needlessly panics.  And I get out the map and chat with a couple of blokes who have appeared on their bikes at the start of their mid afternoon ride.  Fortunately they turn out to be local, and know the diversions and know where I need to go.  In fact, they offer to escort me and show me the turnoff I need to take after the next climb and sweeping descent.  I protest, having been out for 2 hours I don't want to hold them up.  No worries say they.  So, giving it all I can to avoid delaying and spoiling their ride I go up the hill with them.  Chatting as I go, and making sure I stay a wheel ahead of the guy I am conversing with.  After all, I don't want to hold him up.  It's only when we get to the top of the climb I realise we dropped the other guy half way up the hill. 

They drop me off at the bottom of the descent and I'm on my way again.  Finally I reach the end 2hrs 32mins after starting, and I'm pleased with that.

Cwmcarn

My weekend plan of choice this Saturday gone was Cwncarn - http://mbwales.com/Cwmcarn.  And a mighty fine plan it was too.  The trail down in the south of Wales was beautifully served by a fine campsite, situated next to a flowing river, visitor centre and of course the head of the trail.  http://www.caerphilly.gov.uk/cwmcarnforest.

Trail time was a little slower than anticipated, and once again, I blame Jason who was pacing himself on the uphill stretches.  The uphills were a challenge, technically, with rocks and roots and general lack of smooth pathway - which is one of the things mountain biking is all about, and serves as a reminder to me that skills work as well as fitness is something I should be working on if I want to improve at (and enjoy more) this game.  The weather was beautiful and sunny, and the two hour bike ride was done and dusted by lunchtime, when we returned to the campsite to enjoy the squashed rolls we'd carried in our bags for the previous two hours.

Drum roll here please.  Did my first ever section of black run.  Well, did 95% of it. Had a brain refusal moment at going round a tight bend on a track maybe 8 inches wide swooping towards a descent through a pipe.  Did the descent though.  All in all, a pleasant day out with no noticeable additional bruises, cuts, injuries etc. Roll on the next time out ...

I flew

Oh yes, yesterday I flew.  In many ways.  I flew up the hills, with a steady gentle pace simply pedalling away from the long suffering Jason who had elected to accompany me on the trip to the Marin trail.  With apparent ease climbing the fire roads at a pleasant maintainable tempo.  Down the swooping single track descents I flew, letting the bike roll over the rocky muddy grassy gravelly terrain, following my nose along the undulating tracks.  Then over the handlebars I flew, the bike stopped and I was a little slower, stopping a couple of feet further along on my hands and knees before rolling over and taking a moment to take on board my recumbant position.  And the worst part of the fall is the painful fingertips making typing an uncomfortable chore ....


Oooh, and here's me before the fall in the "Can't Stop" T-shirt which turned out to have some truth in it.

Comfort zone

It is a big brave move for me to go somewhere new to me without company and get out on the mountain bike.  All manner of things go through my head.  First thing is will I actually find the place; I am not renowned for my car navigation skills.  Second concern normally relates to things like toilets, car parking, followed by a dose of worry about the weather.  Third concern is how to bail out - if I don't know the area, I don't have a map (ordnance survey maps don't really cover trail centre forest tracks particularly well); if I have a mechanical I can't resolve at the side of the trail will I be able to get myself on foot back to the start.  Fourth concern relates to falling off; will the centre be busy enough that if I whack my head or break my collar bone someone will come along soon to help me out, and if not will there be phone reception.  My brain loves to find fear where others might discover excitement.

So despite all the above limiting factors on my teeny rodent brain filled with confusion and fear of the big scary world, I found myself working out the drive to get to Coed y Brenin trail centre.  Turned out it was just two roads but 50 minutes drive from where I was staying.  Simples.  A5, A470, what's to go wrong.  And indeed nothing did go wrong.  Car parking was spacious, pay and display not bad, and the toilets were a thing you can only dream of, incorporating also showers, a cafe, a visitor centre with trail maps and a bike shop.  Signage was huge and bold, and options clear.  I picked my route, and I set off.

Not a day to fall off I felt, given that I was alone in the big dark woods.  The first singletrack section therefore presented me with problems, rocky technical climbing is not my forte, and indeed I have been known to topple over on such terrain before.  I soon found I had become the mistress of the foot dab, and made my way up the winding hill, and then along the swooping descent.  Bike seemed to be sluggish and handling slighty sloppy, and on arrival at the wide forest road post descent it became clear what had happened.  Puncture.  Rear tyre.

So this was interesting.  Bike upside down on the grass verge, tyre levers, new inner tube and pump all out of the bag, and I set to work.  Quick release and disc brakes are a little piece of heaven in these circumstances.  Twist, release, lift and out comes the wheel.  A couple of lads rode past, and nodded at me.  I smiled and got on with the job.  Another group of lads passed, not even eye contact.  It's kind of refreshing to find this mainly male environment is not sexist, boy bikers don't feel they need to stop to help a perfectly competent and well equipped woman to deal with something as straight forward as a puncture.  Job soon done, and my self confidence soaring as I have managed to cope with the most common problem alone.  Suddenly I know I can do this, I can go out alone to unknown terrain and I will survive.

Scrumptious Scarborough

Ah, another illicit evening spent poring over an ordnance survey map.  This time OL27 was the subject of my clandestine activity.  Somehow I have managed to book a camping wigwam (for this please read wooden shed with nearby toilet and shower facilities) near Dalby Forest at the weekend of the National Points Series. (NPS)  Bit of an own goal as the purpose of being in that location was to get down and get dirty with the Red route at Dalby which it now seems is partially closed for the NPS event.  I actually investigated the possibility of entering the race simply in order to ride the route ... but I'd be a bit of an obstacle to the other riders really.  Besides which, what would I wear?

Anyway, never one to let a minor obstacle become a major impediment, an alternative plan in the area is now under scrutiny.  Shall I do a coastal route, find another bridleway and make a journey rather than complete a trail.  Will I take cake? (of course).

It's a weekend with three mates, one of whom is some kind of lightweight racing whippet with youth, talent and skill on her side.  Don't you just hate people like that?  Another is her bloke, a somewhat thickset Dane but nonetheless with sufficient skills on the bike to whoop my arse.  Bringing up the rear is the Scottish midget and of course me.  I've spent the last three months not getting left behind so this one's going to be a reality check for me.  I need that.

Red Run

So after a week of glorious sunshine the obvious plan by Friday was to head to Llandegla trail centre on Saturday to get a trail or two under my biking belt.  Trail centres aren't my favorite form of mountain biking, but they do serve a couple of useful purposes - they have well signed trails, large car parks, cafe and toilet facilities.  The trails are graded so you know you're going to attempt something you should be technically suited to, the distances are designed to last maybe a couple of hours tops, and no roads or road crossings are involved. 

The reasons they aren't top of my list are that I feel part of a treadmill of riders following each other's tails and don't feel like I'm travelling, but enclosed in a man made maze.  They do, however, provide exercise, a sociable ride, safety, security and a fine place to fine tune your skills.  I don't have a lot of skills to fine tune so this should really be something I embrace.

One day I may look to time myself around the red run and put down a personal best marker.  Yesterday wasn't to be that day, however.  I have amazing early season fitness, and may well not see the like of this again, and indeed all fitness is anticipated to vanish by summer as the realist in me accepts that at some point I probably will get injured in some way and find myself with weeks off the bike.  It would be nice to put down a time.  This time, however, I have company which is nice, and sociable and gives me something to measure myself against in a positive way.  I learn not to go full tilt, but to use the time to experiment, to see what happens if I take a rocky line, to concentrate on moving my balance backwards and forwards while going over humps, to try to improve my hill climbing gear selection and even check out how I do corners.  I'm not good at going round corners.  Not sure why.

It's kind of fun standing in strategic places awaiting the arrival of your trail partner for the day.  Young fit men come past you and you can watch their bums receeding into the distance.  

Yesterday I decreed a 4.5 degree temperature as shorts weather.  That's not like me at all, a nesh individual if ever I knew one.  Lulled into a false sense of security by mid week sunshine.