Not so nice legs. I am a little concerned about a Christening I'm attending in around 10 days time and the implication of the enormous bruises on my legs on the proposed outfit for the occasion. Wondering, in fact, if I might be wisest to make the decision now to swap to maxi dress or indeed to trousers.
Following a wee tumble at Dalby Forest last weekend the bruise which is approximately 7 inches in height on the back of my calf has gone through yellow and red and black to now having a black circumference and a relatively normal appearance centre. It has, however been joined by minor incidental bruises from touches on the pedals or rocks or frame or indeed gardening incidents with spade, fork, etc. So much bruising has happened on my legs that in the bath last night trying to wash off the gardening grime I was somewhat surprised to find my leg remained mostly dirt coloured after a good body scrub. Ooops. I am bruised.
It's been fun though, wearing shorts and 3/4 length trousers. I imagine I look committed to the cycling cause and like some desperado woman who is hard core and not scared to push it. Pretty much a reflection of reality in some ways. I look 'ard. Don't mess with me.
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Monday, 25 April 2011
Sheep Bells
So, a four day weekend has nearly come to an end, and it has been a good one for me and the bike. Saturday took me here: http://www.ridetheclwyds.com. A hearty route, starting at the Ruthin craft centre and doggedly climbing and climbing and climbing until you hit a forest at the top when you get to do a lovely downhill section through wide and open grassland (so you can see walking folk coming and not hit them), followed by a long hard drag up a fireroad and then you travel and travel and travel. I very much enjoy it.
Both fortunately and unfortunately I suffered a minor and preventable but ride limiting mechanical issue. Having finally found the perfect saddle, the prologo which makes me inordinately happy, it turns out my wrist action is not the finest in the world at securing said saddle to the Ritchie saddle post. Sadly the first I knew of my error was after 2 hours of climbing when the front end of the saddle began pointing airwards. Got off, checked and dammit, one of the two securing bolts has gone missing. Tightened the remaining bolt but it's rapidly clear that it isn't enough to keep the saddle at a viable angle. So, with some regret we turned round to head back down all the bits we'd just ground our way up.
I say with some regret. However, I've never done this route in reverse, and kind of longed to be able to whizz down those hills I normally climbed, so with saddle somewhat secured by a man's wrist action on the one remaining bolt down we zoomed, and zoomed and zoomed. It's fun going down grassy tracks. Normally trail centres etc. have no grass left on them, such is the popularity, it's all rock and dirt and gravel never sleepy grazing land. One of the noteworthy points of grazing land is that things graze it. Fluffy things. Sheep. There, in the middle of the path ahead I saw her, the sheep. So, being a unique kind of an individual who actually has a bell on her mountain bike I started to ting the bell, and ting the bell and ting the bell to get the sheep to move. I think in reality she shifted because the bellows of laughter coming from behind me and subsequently from me were loud and weird enough to alarm the poor beasty into moving well away from the strange people. I liked ringing my bell.
The route down the hill which had taken over two hours to climb took just 45 minutes to descend. Whee. Indeed.
Both fortunately and unfortunately I suffered a minor and preventable but ride limiting mechanical issue. Having finally found the perfect saddle, the prologo which makes me inordinately happy, it turns out my wrist action is not the finest in the world at securing said saddle to the Ritchie saddle post. Sadly the first I knew of my error was after 2 hours of climbing when the front end of the saddle began pointing airwards. Got off, checked and dammit, one of the two securing bolts has gone missing. Tightened the remaining bolt but it's rapidly clear that it isn't enough to keep the saddle at a viable angle. So, with some regret we turned round to head back down all the bits we'd just ground our way up.
I say with some regret. However, I've never done this route in reverse, and kind of longed to be able to whizz down those hills I normally climbed, so with saddle somewhat secured by a man's wrist action on the one remaining bolt down we zoomed, and zoomed and zoomed. It's fun going down grassy tracks. Normally trail centres etc. have no grass left on them, such is the popularity, it's all rock and dirt and gravel never sleepy grazing land. One of the noteworthy points of grazing land is that things graze it. Fluffy things. Sheep. There, in the middle of the path ahead I saw her, the sheep. So, being a unique kind of an individual who actually has a bell on her mountain bike I started to ting the bell, and ting the bell and ting the bell to get the sheep to move. I think in reality she shifted because the bellows of laughter coming from behind me and subsequently from me were loud and weird enough to alarm the poor beasty into moving well away from the strange people. I liked ringing my bell.
The route down the hill which had taken over two hours to climb took just 45 minutes to descend. Whee. Indeed.
Friday, 22 April 2011
Work horse
My normal commute bike is a hybrid (grammatically speaking wondering if that should be an hybrid). It has umpteen gears, a big wide padded sofa of a saddle, slick tyres and a back rack to take panniers. It offers no resistance to the road, and if I'm honest not a lot of grip either; cornering is with caution. It goes a lot quicker than the old mountain bike would on road rides.
This week, though, I've been pottering in on the mountain bike for purposes of saddle trials. Anticipating the bike having huge resistance I expected a week with a bit of a work out as my legs were going to have to push me through every revolution of the wheels. I also felt a bit of a fraud commuting on the roads with my hardtail. Therefore I went exploring. I've a few routes to work, tried and tested, familiar and uneventful, but using the mountain bike, surely I thought I can add a twist. So I did.
Getting out my Cycle GM maps I checked out any off road options, canal tow paths, riverside etc. and came up with a cunning plan. Route 86 from the city centre out to the velodrome looked just the thing. Unlocked the front suspension (because I could rather than because I needed to), and went for it. Half way along the path which criss crosses roads it petered out. Puzzled, I studied the map. Where has the path gone? Asked a workman from the tram works and he simply advised I got on the road. Where's the diversion, I asked? He shrugged. Crap. Back on the road on a route I avoid because it's frankly horrible on a bike, with no warning and no choice. Wrote to Manchester City Council - after all, the rules of the land are that footpaths are sacrosanct and if closed there must be suitable signposted diversions. Really rubbish job of enforcement there, Manchester.
This week, though, I've been pottering in on the mountain bike for purposes of saddle trials. Anticipating the bike having huge resistance I expected a week with a bit of a work out as my legs were going to have to push me through every revolution of the wheels. I also felt a bit of a fraud commuting on the roads with my hardtail. Therefore I went exploring. I've a few routes to work, tried and tested, familiar and uneventful, but using the mountain bike, surely I thought I can add a twist. So I did.
Getting out my Cycle GM maps I checked out any off road options, canal tow paths, riverside etc. and came up with a cunning plan. Route 86 from the city centre out to the velodrome looked just the thing. Unlocked the front suspension (because I could rather than because I needed to), and went for it. Half way along the path which criss crosses roads it petered out. Puzzled, I studied the map. Where has the path gone? Asked a workman from the tram works and he simply advised I got on the road. Where's the diversion, I asked? He shrugged. Crap. Back on the road on a route I avoid because it's frankly horrible on a bike, with no warning and no choice. Wrote to Manchester City Council - after all, the rules of the land are that footpaths are sacrosanct and if closed there must be suitable signposted diversions. Really rubbish job of enforcement there, Manchester.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
Sitting comfortably?
I've been niggling on about the discomfort of the mountain bike sitting position for a while, and have discussed with ... well, anyone who will listen but without taking an awful lot of action. Last weekend once again the end of a day on the MTB and once circulation returned to my nether regions I was having issues yet again. Really predictable as I had done nothing to change my situation since my last moaning attack on this subject.
So, this week I did something about it. I spoke to yet more people, and as a result, three second hand saddles appeared on my desk as if by miracle for trial, sale or return. Ball now being in my court, I had to knuckle down and make sure I did the necessary exploration to make sure I got the thing right. Being mid week this meant to test the things properly I needed to manufacture some MTB rides pretty quickly. Decision made. Use the MTB to cycle to work - a sense of weirdness in itself.
With relief and allen key the original saddle with all its pain was removed from the bike, and the first trial saddle put in place. I had chosen of the options I had been given the Selle Italia for first trial based on the simple logic that to me it looked more like the shape of my bum than the others. Did the home to work journey in, and ouch. Either I'm lopsided or the saddle is lopsided or it just plain doesn't fit. Ditched that one with no great ceremony in a lunchtime sneak visit to the work bike store. Next saddle up was there purely on looks. It was a thing of beauty, even matched the bike in its whiteness. The Pro Logo. Cycled home on it, mmm, not bad. Cycled to work on it again and home on it again. Finally, I have the saddle, and yes, I'm sitting comfortably.
So, this week I did something about it. I spoke to yet more people, and as a result, three second hand saddles appeared on my desk as if by miracle for trial, sale or return. Ball now being in my court, I had to knuckle down and make sure I did the necessary exploration to make sure I got the thing right. Being mid week this meant to test the things properly I needed to manufacture some MTB rides pretty quickly. Decision made. Use the MTB to cycle to work - a sense of weirdness in itself.
With relief and allen key the original saddle with all its pain was removed from the bike, and the first trial saddle put in place. I had chosen of the options I had been given the Selle Italia for first trial based on the simple logic that to me it looked more like the shape of my bum than the others. Did the home to work journey in, and ouch. Either I'm lopsided or the saddle is lopsided or it just plain doesn't fit. Ditched that one with no great ceremony in a lunchtime sneak visit to the work bike store. Next saddle up was there purely on looks. It was a thing of beauty, even matched the bike in its whiteness. The Pro Logo. Cycled home on it, mmm, not bad. Cycled to work on it again and home on it again. Finally, I have the saddle, and yes, I'm sitting comfortably.
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
Tummy Tuck
The sunny weather brought out the lycra. Big time. On me. This brought with it unexpected vanities. Dressed in a fitted but not tight t-shirt I paired this up with a pair of proper cycling shorts a la Aldi supermarket supplier of choice to Alison. Found myself struggling on the long drag into town with breathing and position, and realised to my horror the shorts made me do it. Made me hold my stomach in. Which was obviously stopping my lungs operating as effectively as they might.
Weird, the old bugbear of vanity. Once I was aware of it, obviously my first reaction was to be horrified that I was as shallow as the next woman, and indeed obviously far more shallow. I'm no super model but I'm not a wallowing whale. Having reached the grand old age of 42 without going through childbirth I don't have the perfectly understandable post pregnant woman issues of love handles and saggy tummy, just a firm and acceptable slight curve in that general vicinity. So what am I doing trying to hold my belly in? Cars pass me, cyclists pass me, I pass cyclists, I pass walking peoples (can't quite get my head round the word pedestrian sometimes), and frankly a) I see them for a fraction of a minute and b) I won't ever see them again. Still the logic is weird, because having said my first reaction was one of horror, my second was one of trying to relax the old tum. Every time my attention lapsed though, there it was again, stomach being held in.
The moral of this story? Baggy Shorts.
Weird, the old bugbear of vanity. Once I was aware of it, obviously my first reaction was to be horrified that I was as shallow as the next woman, and indeed obviously far more shallow. I'm no super model but I'm not a wallowing whale. Having reached the grand old age of 42 without going through childbirth I don't have the perfectly understandable post pregnant woman issues of love handles and saggy tummy, just a firm and acceptable slight curve in that general vicinity. So what am I doing trying to hold my belly in? Cars pass me, cyclists pass me, I pass cyclists, I pass walking peoples (can't quite get my head round the word pedestrian sometimes), and frankly a) I see them for a fraction of a minute and b) I won't ever see them again. Still the logic is weird, because having said my first reaction was one of horror, my second was one of trying to relax the old tum. Every time my attention lapsed though, there it was again, stomach being held in.
The moral of this story? Baggy Shorts.
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
Happy Talk
Beautiful weather this week and more of the same forecast. The plan is to get on the bike today (ticked that box), tomorrow and Thursday. Thursday it's kind of incorporated in the errand of dropping the car off for service on the way to work.
So today's journey at various pointless red lights I chatted with fellow cyclists. Two in all. Wondering now if I can set myself a lunatic old woman target of upping this number each day. First guy we mutually tutted at the other cyclists who set off on red light as soon as the pedestrian beeping begins. Not giving cyclists as a whole a great name, that kind of caper. Angers motorists and angry motorists can become aggressive and dye everyone with the same cloth. The first guy was Afro Caribbean and had an accent which sounded like sunshine on a beach. The second guy was some grey haired racing whippet type who made conversation and then cycled off into the middle distance.
Bugged me as at three consecutive sets of lights the same guy went on pedestrian crossing lights, and each time I'd caught up with him by the next set of lights without any particular effort. Really, if he wants to go faster perhaps just put a bit more weight on the pedals and he'd be going the same pace as us law abiding types. It does infuriate me, in fact, it annoys me more when I'm on the bike than when I'm in the car. I'm a peaceful car driver who doesn't get rattled easily, after all, I'm normally on my way to work and therefore never in a hurry.
So today's journey at various pointless red lights I chatted with fellow cyclists. Two in all. Wondering now if I can set myself a lunatic old woman target of upping this number each day. First guy we mutually tutted at the other cyclists who set off on red light as soon as the pedestrian beeping begins. Not giving cyclists as a whole a great name, that kind of caper. Angers motorists and angry motorists can become aggressive and dye everyone with the same cloth. The first guy was Afro Caribbean and had an accent which sounded like sunshine on a beach. The second guy was some grey haired racing whippet type who made conversation and then cycled off into the middle distance.
Bugged me as at three consecutive sets of lights the same guy went on pedestrian crossing lights, and each time I'd caught up with him by the next set of lights without any particular effort. Really, if he wants to go faster perhaps just put a bit more weight on the pedals and he'd be going the same pace as us law abiding types. It does infuriate me, in fact, it annoys me more when I'm on the bike than when I'm in the car. I'm a peaceful car driver who doesn't get rattled easily, after all, I'm normally on my way to work and therefore never in a hurry.
Monday, 18 April 2011
Everybody hurts
Yes indeed, everybody hurts sometimes, and when it comes to my body, fortunately my experience has mostly been of good hurts. So I am walking a little stiffly today due to the gluteus maximus muscles having had a bit of a pasting Saturday but at least it is a good hurt.
So, the weekend involved "camping" - if indeed staying in a camping pod is truly camping. The only thing missing, after all is the tent. Sleeping bag and thermorest and bikes chained to the car were all constituents of the weekend. Beautiful camp site in the middle of Dalby Forest, just a pedal stroke from the trails at High Rigg Farm. Saturday saw us out on the bikes early doors. Maybe. No watch on and it felt early. An abbreviated red run was completed with a coffee stop in the middle. Coffee stops, it seems are the norm on a road bike or club run but on a mountain bike, in my experience, an unheard of luxury. The route was beautiful, swooping up and down, gnarly bits, tree roots, rocky bits, grassy stuff, sand and grit. Most of the gears got a workout.
Only fell off the once. Training need; I really must learn to go round corners. Kind of performance limiting. The bruises are interesting. Won't wear a skirt for a bit then.
So, the weekend involved "camping" - if indeed staying in a camping pod is truly camping. The only thing missing, after all is the tent. Sleeping bag and thermorest and bikes chained to the car were all constituents of the weekend. Beautiful camp site in the middle of Dalby Forest, just a pedal stroke from the trails at High Rigg Farm. Saturday saw us out on the bikes early doors. Maybe. No watch on and it felt early. An abbreviated red run was completed with a coffee stop in the middle. Coffee stops, it seems are the norm on a road bike or club run but on a mountain bike, in my experience, an unheard of luxury. The route was beautiful, swooping up and down, gnarly bits, tree roots, rocky bits, grassy stuff, sand and grit. Most of the gears got a workout.
Only fell off the once. Training need; I really must learn to go round corners. Kind of performance limiting. The bruises are interesting. Won't wear a skirt for a bit then.
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