Category Archives: Cycling UK
A breeze of a ride down to Willington to eat cake with the boys ‘n girls……..😊 And don’t be taken in by the 0.04km headline box of the Relive animation…..it was actually 62km..
Cycling and sociability.
When we talk about cycling being a sociable activity, we are usually referring to the camaraderie shared on the road with a bunch of other like-minded roadies, and the banter and teasing that goes on at the coffee stops. But what if you are a lone cyclist? By that I don’t mean the hapless ‘billy-no-mates’, the guy whom no-one will cycle with, but just someone who chooses to be on their own, for whatever reason.
When I am on one of my long trekking rides in a far-distant land, I find riding on my own is a much more ‘sociable’ experience. But what do I mean by that? Simple really….if you cycle with a partner or a group, you are much more likely to spend your time almost exclusively with them. It is, after all, the dynamics of that kind of setting. However, if you are on your own, you find yourself engaging much more with the local people in passing, and they are much more likely to want to engage with you, to the extent that they may offer you a meal or even a bed for the night. This has happened to me countless times.
More locally, in your own home environment, riding a bike through nearby towns and villages, you feel much less intrusive if you decide to call on a friend without announcing your arrival. It is so easy to roll up to a friend’s house, spend 15-20 minutes with them, sometimes sharing a coffee, and catching up with the latest news. To do that when you are passing in a car is quite different, both for you and the friend. Stopping for a casual unannounced visit feels much more intrusive in those circumstances…….and people seldom do it. As a result, there are some 12-15 friends who live away from my village that I see more often, albeit for short snatches, by riding the bike. And when a friend complains that they haven’t seen me for a while, then I know that my occasional visit is appreciated.
Fighting the wind……not, not of the gastric variety, but what the elements unleashed this morning. But it was great tea and cake at The Stove in Bourn, with the ‘illustrious’ company of the Silver Slugs…….
Ah, the summer has arrived here in the UK……which just goes to prove my stupidity. Just as one swallow doesn’t make a summer, so neither do a few sunny days…..But I decided to risk all, including my own credibility, and take out my Litespeed titanium, and announce to the world “The summer is here”!
A smaller lighter frame, with enough twitchiness to keep my attention for the duration of the first ride….but it’s also quicker and more invigorating. Not really the sort of bike for relaxing into a long ride, but one to make the long ride just a little shorter……which may mean an earlier lunch some days…😁
Good to be back on the road….regenerated by a couple of weeks of alternative activities on the southern beaches of Spain: walking, yoga and swimming, it was good to feel renewed energy on the bike, and the (perhaps deceptive) lightness of the forward propulsion of pedalling.
But it was just my luck to have to stop mid-ride to help a young lady cyclist (this doesn’t often happen, believe me) who had fallen off her bike. Only a few days into learning to ride a bike, she had fallen on the grass verge and, unshaken by the experience, she had picked herself up, dusted herself off, but her bike needed a few adjustments before being able to re-mount. I raised the saddle a few inches for her, but she was nervous she wouldn’t be able to easily touch the ground with her feet. I straightened her handlebars and checked a few of the mechanicals to make sure they would work for her. A mile down the road, I stopped and looked back, and I could see her getting up to speed, so left her to it.
Most of us learn to ride a bike as children, but some don’t. As children, we are so used to the rough and tumble of childhood that falling off a bike is hardly novel or much more painful than any other fall. But learning as an adult is a different story. Having broken my femur on one occasion falling off my bike, I came to understand (somewhat painfully and late in life) that we no longer ‘bounce’ as we did as children. And that is the fear that deters many adult learners, just as it deterred my wife, Jenny……..but then she married someone who explored alternatives, like a tandem. For any non-bike rider who would dearly love to ride a bike, riding stoker on the back of a tandem is an (almost) perfect solution…….as it is for people who are sight-impaired, or have some other disability that keeps them from riding a bike.
If you know of anyone who is in this situation and would dearly love to ride stoker on the back of a tandem, then check out Charlotte’s Tandems, a charity that organises the loan of tandems to people with disabilities. They do a great job and have a network of volunteers around the country who can supply a tandem free of charge.
On the hottest April day since 1949, I hit the ‘hills’ of Northamptonshire with a group that meets up every Thursday in different locations. The idea is to gather at a coffee stop, the organiser gives out the route sheets and takes bookings for lunch, then everyone takes to the road in self-selected groups to meet at the pub for lunch, and from there everyone makes their own way home.
I always ride out to the café, do the ride in between, then ride home again, usually logging up between 80-100km, so it can occupy most of the day. This particular group has been meeting for 40-50 years, and some of the originals are still there, not riding the miles as they used to, but still active. And each one is a ‘cycling encyclopaedia’ of bicycle wisdom, anecdotal stories of their achievements and near-misses, and often masters of the art of bicycle-fettling. I always enjoy their company.
Just like straddling the equator, straddling the Greenwich Meridian should be just as momentous, but I wonder how many thousands of people going in and out of Cambridge on a daily basis from/to the west realise (or simply remember) that, geographically, they are moving from one time zone to another?
Let’s face it, even though this line of longitude became the official worldwide 0 degree point as far back as 1884, so that all time zones around the globe could be determined, there are many countries in the world that have ignored it, and have simply opted into the ‘time-zone next door’ for their own convenience.
This came to my attention many years ago after visiting Galicia (NW Spain) and Sicily in the month of February. Although officially in the same time zone (central European time), they were so far apart (east to west) that there was a clear 100 minutes of difference between their respective sunrises and sunsets, and if you look at the map of time zones, you will see that Spain should, geographically speaking, be in the Greenwich meantime zone.
However, you can imagine my disappointment at discovering that the actual line, verified thousands of times by modern GPS systems, is actually 334 feet to the east (c102 metres) which, at the speed of a Usain Bolt, is all of 10 seconds away.
Disappointingly, we have been living a lie all this time…….
Discovering a new piece of software that can bring your day’s ride to life helps you to relive the experience in a different way. And for those who haven’t yet discovered the joys of propelling themselves through the countryside on a pair of wheels, this kind of animation of a route may possibly kindle an interest.
As you will see from the photo embedded in the video, the weather did not inspire, but once on the bike, with the leg muscles warming up, the sheer momentum of the experience can make the weather irrelevant…….unless, of course, it is ‘tanking it down’……which it was the other day. But then the worst that can happen to you is…..you get wet…….and so what?
Most of my riding may be solo these days, given that I live out ‘in the sticks’, but I invariably join up with other roadies at some ‘watering hole’ to chew over the fat, and to indulge in that favourite pastime of most roadies……coffee and cake.
One of the groups I tie in with is made up mostly of the ‘retired-and-idle’, who have nothing better to do with their spare time than to ride bikes and eat cake. I mean that in
jest of course, but it’s not too far from the truth. Today’s ride took me to a small Northamptonshire village called Earls Barton, a community with a rich Anglo Saxon heritage (pre-600 AD), in later years famous for its leather trade, and most recently a protagonist in the film Kinky Boots, which was based on the Northamptonshire shoe trade.
Our watering hole today was a very nice café in the local marina, nestling beside the moorings of river boats and narrow boats, and it was warm enough in the sunshine to sit outside on the veranda. Although I have been
retired for nearly ten years, I was clearly the ‘junior’ member of this group, the eldest well into his 80s. And this is the message of hope, perhaps…….that riding a bike regularly, doing some decent weekly mileage (which all of these people clearly do), keeps you fit and active……and it is remarkable how little the aches and pains of old age creep into the chat and banter over the table. If any discomfort and pain is ever mentioned it is usually about the damn headwind on the way out, or the hill that had them grinding in their lowest gear…….or occasionally about some inconsiderate driver who nearly cut them up. Otherwise, we are usually engaged in relating anecdotes of cycling times past, or discussing something technical about the bikes, or mocking the latest generation of sportive riders who ‘have all the gear and no idea’…….and would be better off riding a cheaper bike and losing several kilos of body fat.
All said and done, we have a laugh.
Then I came across this green plaque in Woolaston and learned something new about the town……
If cycling on a bright sunny spring morning does nothing else, it will most certainly bring us in closer contact with the beauty of the world around us, but sometimes that beauty is adulterated by human beings. No, I am not talking about farmers, road menders, wayside factory units or inconsiderate drivers, I am referring to the feckless individuals who are intent on ‘spoiling the party’ by dumping their household waste on country roadside verges.
Not only do they thoughtlessly dump it willy-nilly in remote spots, but they also make their unwelcome presence felt by spreading their rubbish in several places, thus making it harder for anyone to clear up. So, what do they gain, and what could they potentially lose if they are identified?
Given that most of this waste could easily be disposed of through normal domestic collection, they gain absolutely nothing. But they do stand to lose on at least two counts: if they are identified (and household waste can throw up a lot of clues) they stand to be stung for a £400 fine, but more importantly, if they are members of a local community, they may have to face the opprobrium of those who live around them.
This very same stretch of road (I have decided) also sees the frequent passage of a committed coca cola drinker. How do I know? I see many discarded cans by the road side, but along this stretch there were no fewer than some 20 coke cans……the same colour red, the same company insignia…..is it not time to impose an environmental tax on these companies.
Rant over…. today’s ride was otherwise glorious, mixed as it was with paying a visit to two old friends en route.
Good to feel the warmth of the sun piercing the multiple layers of insulation……is this the real beginning of spring? The countryside has that air about it, pendant catkins and developing sticky buds tell their story, even the bird life is being lulled into a frantic bout of nest building.
Where does the truth lie?
The lowest county summit
I don’t live in the flattest part of England, because that accolade is probably richly deserved by Lincolnshire, but the now non-existent county where I do live (old Huntingdonshire) does proudly boast the lowest historic county summit in the country….which is of particular interest if you are an inveterate ‘hill-bagger’….yes, there is a league of hill-baggers out there who go bagging all the highest points of historic counties, no matter how low they are.
Imagine going from bagging Scafell Pike (978 metres/3208 ft) to the summit of old Huntingdonshire (81metres/266 ft)…..not exactly in the same league, I would say, but features on the same list of baggable points.
Now, I tell you all this simply because my route today took me dangerously close to bagging my first highest summit on a bike…..and astonishingly it is listed in the baggers’ almanac with the never-to-be-forgotten name of ‘Boring Field’, just outside the village of Covington.
However, and this is a big ‘however’…….there is a hotly contested issue as to the summit’s exact whereabouts. Could it really be on a bridge over the now defunct Huntingdon-Kettering railway track? In other words, do engineering structures really count as part of the landscape?
Don’t write to me….write to your local MP…..
Drowning the candle…..
It was, of course, a delight to climb on the tandem, pedal in sync for a few miles, enjoy the cool February sunshine, and to punctuate our ride with a fine lunch at a local country pub.
Jenny, very kindly, poured me a glass of water, releasing the slice of lemon for my sole benefit, and as I put the glass to my lips I peered into the depths of the glass and, beneath the slice of lemon, lurked a tea-light candle……😁 She had decanted my water into the candle holder……..!
Well, we made ‘light’ of it, it didn’t ‘douse’ our enthusiasm for the meal, but it put paid to a candlelit experience…….
There are times when you just have to get off your home patch and find pastures new. The familiarity of repeated routes on home territory sometimes drives my ‘ philosophical ruminations’ to watery depths unfamiliar even to David Attenborough. An errand to Stamford (Lincolnshire) to pick up a re-built wheel for my Dave Yates bike gave me the chance to linger in the Rutland area and revisit some of the sweeping hills that separate towns such as Oakham and Uppingham and Rockingham
……and coast along the picturesque valley of the Welland river…….
…forgetting that I would be chancing by the famous Harringworth Viaduct, in all its 1.166km of glory, and its 82 arches. Its construction required the labour of 2,500 men, many of whom lost their lives…..in times when ‘elf and safety’ amounted to no more than a nod of acknowledgement that 10 men had died in a month……and it was all put down to ill fortune rather than the conditions of work. Whatever the statistics of life and death, it is a truly impressive structure and, I understand, is still in occasional use even today.
The strange little dog’s leg coming out of Empingham was a 3km out and back. When I discovered the untreated country lanes were still covered in very slippery frost, I opted to follow busier trunk routes for the morning session, until the sun had time to rise sufficiently to defrost the country roads. As the day progressed, I was feasted to the most perfect winter sunshine, and a sunset ‘to die for’……..well, not literally…..but you know what I mean.
Now into December, and morning temperatures hovering just above or below freezing, I have to remind myself of the spill on black ice I had 8 years ago when I broke my femur. Cars in our street were frosted over, so I used the early downtime for catching up on some reading, then headed out mid-morning.
It was one of those perfect early winter days. The temperature eventually rose to the 6-9C range, with a gentle breeze and a cloudless sky (for some of the day, at least). The roads were clear, visibility was good for several miles, and the countryside was looking its manicured best. The autumn sowings had produced a gentle green carpet that covered most of the fields.
My route took me through villages that I hadn’t visited in months, and when I got to Oundle (after 46kms), I called unannounced on a friend who very kindly invited me to soup and coffee……the fuel to propel me the 30kms back home which, incidentally, was gently aided by a north-westerly breeze.
The mapping App on my phone tells me I covered 75kms, climbing some 457 metres and (if I really want to believe it) I expended 2,900 calories in the process. Sounds like just cause for a big evening meal tonight…….:-)
Windcheater? Who me? 🍒 picking again? Not taking the rough with the smooth, eh? I have to be careful here…..in the cycling world, there’s something called a ‘sense of honour’. Hard to define it exactly, but as in the world of yoga every posture has a ‘contra-posture’, so in the world of cycling….every downhill has an uphill, and every tailwind should have a headwind……life on the bike can’t be permanently downhill with the wind behind you. If opposites didn’t exist, the world would lack equilibrium. So today, I’ve done my little bit to unbalance the world……
You see, I thought I could use a bit of prestidigitation (let’s call it magic) and conjure up a whole day’s ride to have the wind behind me all the way. Dishonourable, I know….and I deserve all the scorn that more compliant roadies might vent……but I may have been caught on the cameras of some road surveillance system watching out for cycling cheats like me. Well, I’ll just have to sit it out now and wait for a potential ‘slap on the wrist’ from a Dixon-of-Dock-Green type bobby who may call at the door at any time. D’you think I care……?
I took a 10km ride to a nearby town to climb on a bus, enjoyed a free 2 hour ride to Buckingham (the joys of the bus pass….😊) and then caught the wind in my sails and headed in a north easterly direction. I’d like to say it was plain sailing all the way, but it never is…..
Yes, I chose my spot to have an instant puncture, when the air just exploded out of my tyre, and was completely flat before I could stop. Beside a noisy road, and with 30-40mph winds, it was well nigh impossible to locate the blow-out, and then I couldn’t find the cause. It’s always a bit nervy when you put a fresh tube in the tyre without knowing what caused the puncture, but I did…..but that wasn’t the end of the story. When I had finished inflating the new tube, as I tightened the valve, the pin broke….hey ho……but the tyre kept its pressure, so I continued my journey with all fingers and toes crossed.
However, should I feel guilty about such brazen 🍒 picking? Would you?
I wanted to get to the White Cliffs Visitor Centre, and a fingerpost pointed the way for both walkers and cyclists……what it didn’t tell me was that I would be pushing my laden bike up horrendously steep dirt tracks to 400ft above sea level, when there was a nice surfaced road (albeit longer) that allowed cars to get up there. What the hell….I was wearing my superman suit anyway.
The Visitor Centre was very disappointing. It didn’t even have an information display, so when I asked about cycling along the cliffs to South Foreland Lighthouse, I got a ‘big no, no’. The National Trust had recently banned bikes, so I teamed up with another biker, on his fat tyres, looking every inch the gravel biker, and he showed me the alternative route……if you are familiar with the shipping forecasts, you will have heard reference to the North Foreland Lighthouse…….it always seems to succeed Gibraltar Point (the Wash), and precede Selsey Bill (nr Portsmouth). The history of the lighthouse was fascinating, including one of a dynasty of keepers who fathered 13 children in the nearby cottage…..(well, it was Victorian England, after all. What other fun was to be had?)
I passed kite surfers………
this gentleman on his new elliptical pedal cycle, which roared past me at twice my speed, but made pedalling look like climbing stairs…..
crossed this narrow gauge railway…….
and found myself wending my way along quiet country tracks strewn with autumnal leaves…..
And when all is said and done, and the going gets tough, do the ‘tough really get going’? Not really…….they just eat chips…..
On the train home, I met a friend from the same village, and showed him the GPS app I use on my phone for tracking my rides……I switched it on as we sat there and detected that the train was hitting over 130mph….and it was just a normal commuter train out of London taking people home from their day’s work.
Oh, and btw, this must be the most photographed signpost in the whole country. You couldn’t make it up……reality is sometimes stranger than fiction.
And finally, the route……. (total distance for the whole trip: 237km)
When the landscape was flat, it was extremely flat. When the roads went skywards, it was like a kick in the gut. There are extensive marsh lands (Romney Marsh, for one) along the coast, meaning a high cruising speed on the bike with a gentle following wind. But when the road climbed one of the notorious escarpments, like the one out of Folkestone, tailwinds were of no assistance. They were like a sympathetic friendly arm over my shoulder….understanding my pain, empathising, but powerless to do anything about it.
The morning was miserably misty with a sea fret that seeped through the clothing, but the sun protested loudly in the afternoon and poked its face through the gloom. This coastline is truly dismal when it’s wet, but when the sun shines, it has a magic all of its own.
Hard concentrated riding tends to rob me of my appetite, but mid-afternoon a breakfast muffin filled an empty space, and fuelled the climbing muscles for the final big climb out of Folkestone, steep enough to keep me in my lowest gear, and long enough to require 20 minutes of my attention. This was the view of the escarpment as I started the climb….
And if I had done my route planning properly, my Garmin should have taken me to the front door of my overnight…..a backpackers hostel in Dover.
But when I arrived, it was completely enshrouded in scaffolding, the whole place a building site, so I wheedled my way into another place, overlooking the port.