Little Achievements

I DID IT!  It was as we pulled out of a turning on our tandem.  I said to Paul:  "That's it, I'm not riding any more this year" and he said "ok then you can walk from here".  Then he hugged me and kissed me. 

I'd done it - I'd ridden my 3000th mile of the year.

Besides that little fact, it was a fairly uninspiring ride in dull and damp weather which deteriorated as we pedalled.  It waited until we were home to start raining though, and then it pelted down. 

Some time ago I wrote an entry about challenges and personal challenges, and I mentioned my possibly stupid idea of riding 3000 miles a year.  I came up with this figure some years ago when the British Medical Association gave recommendations about physical activity and I interpreted their recommendations for myself with this challenge.  I lived in a flat part of the UK at that time... but things change.  My home terrain changed, but I couldn’t quite accept a shortening of my desired mileage to compensate.

But thanks to some fabulous holidays, to my husband’s encouragement and to our determination to make the most of every rain-free day (there have been precious few), I’ve managed my first 3000 mile year whilst living in Shropshire.  

I’m not sure I’ll manage it again though!

Floods

The River Severn
stops me in my tracks

No sooner had I uploaded my last piece than I realised that the wet roads I’d been writing about were as nothing as compared to what was to come.  The very next day the rain started, and continued, with devastating results for many unfortunate people.  Let me say right now that I am not one of the people whose homes have been inundated - although many of the roads I have been riding have been wet (and I’ve had to turn back once or twice) I am always privileged to have a warm, dry home to return to at the end of the day.  I’ve no direct experience of being flooded, so I can’t profess to truly understand.

But it’s not by accident that our flood risk is low.  When we moved into this house, I privately lamented its lack of proximity to water.  There’s a little stream by us (some would call it a drain) but it’s very little indeed, and no risk to us or our neighbours.  To stand by a proper river I have to cycle a good few miles, and descend quite a few metres.  It’s not much, but that small descent, and the ten accursed steps between the street and my house (which I struggle to carry my bike up), keep us free from the risk of water ingress.  This is something we considered carefully before we parted with our money, and we will again, if ever we move.

My husband added a comment onto my last blog entry, saying that the Severn had flooded around Welshpool.  I rode there a few days later to see what he meant and it was quite a dramatic sight, in many places a rather beautiful sight. But I can only say it was beautiful because I don’t think any homes were flooded in Welshpool.  The flood plain around the Severn is undeveloped, so it can do its job.  The sheep might find their field size reduced for a while, and doubtless many farmers are being significantly affected, but the water birds are in heaven. 



In other places of course, that's not the case.  Flood plains have been built on, with dreadful consequences.  Winter always brings wet weather and flood defences have been tested in the past.  But our drains and defences seem to be inadequate these days - is this because of particularly adverse and unusual weather, or because we have become complacent in thinking we can always build structures to tame nature?   

I can’t answer that question.  But it’s no secret that I love nature, in all its wild fury.  I like bad weather, with its stormy purple skies and underlit clouds reflecting onto the ripening crops in autumn. And I revel in the sound of trees swaying in breathtaking windiness, when my wheels are stopped in their tracks and I can only gaze in wonder, even as the rain stings my eyes.   

Wind can be very destructive, and rain can be too.  But they were here before us, and they will be here after us.  Whatever the misery they cause, they have my unfettered and humble respect, and I would hope that our city planners have respect for them too. 

Short Days, Short Rides

We were away attending to family commitments last week, and when we returned, it seemed that winter had arrived all of a sudden.  The days are short, the sun is low, the light is dim, and the temperature struggles to reach double figures.  If there were leaves on the trees it would seem darker still, but as the wind has torn most of the leaves from most of the trees, then the weakened sunlight can work its way through.  But it doesn’t stay light for long. 

There’s always a challenge aspect to winter riding.  Cold muscles don’t perform as well as warm ones, so it always seems like hard work.  The sheer quantity of clothes you need to wear feel like a handicap in themselves.  And even if the weather is dry, it doesn’t mean that the roads will be dry too, as water from past rainstorms pools in the roadway and can hang around for days if the fields are too saturated to allow water to drain away.  

To get out in winter, motivation can be key.  Good weather provides its own motivation but if the weather is inclement then I find that the best motivation is the company of good friends.  If I have neither of these encouragements then I have my fallback motivation of my real and desperate need to ride, whatever the conditions, when I have been off my bike for too long.  

That was how I felt yesterday.  One of those pesky winter viruses has had me down (my husband too) and I can’t even say I’m fully over it.  But I set out into a cold and dull day, glad that the morning’s rain had passed.  I found minor lanes to be close to impassable, so much water lay on them, and so I reverted to main roads (which are not busy around here).  

Soon I found myself in an avenue of oak trees, still clinging to their leaves, but dropping enough to leave a bronze edging to both sides of the road and brightening the otherwise straw and grey coloured verges.  The trees themselves, sturdy and magnificent, were swathed in a cloak of rich bronze with shards of red giving form and depth.  My phone camera couldn’t catch a fraction of it. 

The promise of reward is always a good motivation.  And in the absence of any other encouragement, then that promise is the one which gets me out on my bike in all seasons, all temperatures, and even on my own, in inclement weather. 

Gold, Rubies and Pearls

A lane, exquisite in all seasons

Each year I feel a sense of sadness when Summer passes, and Autumn seems to settle like a coldness coming from above. But no sooner has it come then Autumn raises its game with a spectacular show of colours that never ceases to enthral me.

It can be a brief show, and the weather may be so inclement that the desire to go out to see it is almost suppressed.  But normally I find sufficient self-motivation to go out on my bike and to enjoy the best show of the year before winter’s grip takes it from me. And so, in the past month, I’ve had quite a few really fabulous rides. 

Riding along Wenlock Edge, a flock of migrating birds flew over.  As the sun pushed its way through the mist, the mist’s last wisps clung to the clods of earth left by the farmer’s plough, as though the very earth was steaming.  Woodsmoke hung in the air, giving a homely smell of the hearth and a promise of warmth at the end of the day.  Golden leaves on the road made for skidding bicycle wheels, but they also gave an impression of riding over a road paved with gold. 


Money grows on trees - or so it seems, when you look at the golden coins hanging from the silver birch in autumn.  Copper and bronze hang from other trees, and some leaves are so red that they seem to be in flower rather than in the autumn die back.  Nuts and berries drip from branches, though the squirrels make short work of those cobb nuts left by the farmer’s clippers.  From the holly, hawthorn and dog rose hang rubies, from the snowberry, pearls.

One day many years ago a lowlife burglar stole from me, amongst other things, an eternity ring, gold set with rubies, which had belonged to my late mother.  It couldn’t have been of any great value to him but for me, it was priceless.  I missed it sorely, so strong was its association with the mother I had lost.  But gradually, as time passed, I began to see that autumn brings gifts which are also priceless.  

And so I shall always feel my mother’s presence, whenever the wild rose shows to me its bejewelled hand.

Fill that Bucket!

Recently I found myself trying to explain to a new cyclist that fitness doesn’t always come as a free gift, even though it sometimes seems as though it does when you’re young.  In making my point I found myself talking about buckets, and since then, I’ve decided it’s a good metaphor.  So with plentiful mixing of metaphors, here goes.

I have a bucket, and you have one too - we all have one.  I try to keep my particular bucket full of water but I can only use a tablespoon to fill it.  Unfortunately, there’s a hole in the bottom of the bucket and so the water drains away if I don’t keep filling it.  If I want to keep the level the same, I only have to fill it as fast as it leaks.  But if I want to fill it completely, then obviously, I need to work hard with that tablespoon. 

My husband's wee bucket...

Once it’s full, I can keep it full fairly easily by just filling it as fast as it leaks.  The trouble is, it’s hard to get it to that point - especially as the hole gets a little bit bigger each year that I get older.

Winter is just around the corner, and in winter, I tend to get lazy with my tablespoon.  The weather, the dark nights, and the odd virus, conspire to take my attention away from my bucket-filling duties.  At least five pay-per-month public gyms have benefitted from my pathetic attempts to keep my bucket full in past winters, and I’ve had more overturned new leaves than I can list. Not surprisingly then, every year in Spring I find myself with an empty bucket, and feelings of panic as I realise how much work I’m going to have to do to get it full again. 

My little bucket

I’d hate anyone to think that I’m obsessed with fitness - that’s very far from the case.  I can cycle on my own at any speed, walking pace even, and I’m quite happy to do that.  My only problem is that if I cycle with anyone else at all, I want to keep up with them, as lagging behind is no fun at all.  I like cycling with other people, and that, regretfully means having a little bit of fitness on my side - a moderately full bucket, you might say.  

So here we go again, another winter, and another resolution.  I’ve bought running shoes, and they sit on my shoe-rack, taunting me.  Wish me luck, I’ll need it.  And all the best with your buckets too!

Challenges and Personal Challenges

Having written previously about the tendency of young people to like challenges, it now looks like I’m saying that I’m young.  I must be - I tend to set cycling targets for myself, I just can’t help it.  I never intend to, but my love of round numbers gets me doing it every time.  

But challenges are one thing and personal challenges are another.  Let me explain.

I was born without the competetiveness gene.  I was never any good at sport - set me the challenge of beating someone else at something and I’ll give up without trying.  Sport at school was for me a living hell, I was always left on the sidelines - the message my PE teacher hammered into me was that I was useless.  Britain’s phenomenal success at the Olympics could never have inspired me at all - I always knew I’d never, and could never, be the best at anything, and only the best are praised in sport.

So now we have an Olympic legacy on which we must capitalise in order to get people active, and it starts with the youngest members of society.  But how do we inspire those children at school whose lack of sporting prowess leaves them on the sidelines?

Personal challenges are for everyone, even me.  You don’t have to run or cycle as fast as Usain Bolt or Sir Chris Hoy, you just have to run or cycle faster or further than you have before.  As I stated above, I can’t help but set cycling challenges for myself, and though they are quite humble, they motivate me throughout the year.  They can motivate non-sporty kids at school too - I really hope that modern PE teachers appreciate this. 

I used to set myself the challenge of cycling more miles in a year than I drove, but I never achieved it - I relocated away from my home town and found myself driving back regularly to see relatives.  So then I set myself the challenge of riding 40 miles per week for the rest of my life - that was because it equated to the well-publicised recommendation of the BMA, who in 1992 published a report urging people to incorporate exercise into their lives.  They have recently published another report, strengthening their own argument, and I’m pleased to say that I have been meeting that particular challenge since I set it for myself.

Then I set myself the challenge of riding 3,000 miles a year - and promptly moved to an area so hilly that my regular riding distances shrunk by half.  That’s not been so easy, but I’m still trying. 

So my point is this - I’m not really young, and nor am I old.  I carry a minor disability.  But whether you’re young, older, or somewhere in between, setting a physical challenge, whether humble or ambitious, can help motivate you to exercise and to be active, whether you’re sporty or not sporty at all.  

Everyone can be a winner, and feel good for it too.   

Me at Claerwen reservoir - demonstrating my little podge!

An Age for Cycling

I'm a life member of the Cyclists’ Touring Club (CTC) and a big fan, but I have one fairly large concern about it.  Every time I go to a CTC event, whether it’s a local event or a national one, I notice that I am one of the youngest.  If I was 12 that would be ok, but I’m middle aged - almost everyone else I see is well into retirement.  That’s not a bad thing - I hope to enjoy cycling well into my own retirement - but it is a noticeable thing.

On the one hand it’s easy to see why - retired people have the time to pursue their hobbies whilst working people have many competing commitments.  But that doesn’t explain why sportive events are mainly entered by younger, working age people, and why these events tend to sell out their places very quickly, even if they are quite pricey.  In fact, the tougher the event, the more quickly they seem to sell out, even if they are downright expensive.

The CTC is the national charity aiming to represent all cyclists.  Along with British Cycling, which represents sports and competitive cyclists, it offers free 3rd party insurance to all members, and so it is a very good organisation to be a part of.  But increasingly I feel that there is a sector of society which isn’t interested in what the CTC has to offer, and it’s a big sector.  It follows that I feel that the CTC must work to attract and benefit this sector. 

Things you see from a bike No.1 - a Belgian Blue Bull

“Younger people aren’t joiners” the Chief Executive of CTC recently said to me.  That may be true, but there is more than one way to support people who ride bikes, even those that don’t like to join clubs.  The CTC could boost its coffers and its profile by setting up a subsidiary company to run sportives and mountain bike events, the proceeds being paid to charity (ie, the CTC) with the tax advantages that would flow from that.  These proceeds could be spent on stepping up the already good work that the CTC does, particularly those things that are of concern and interest to younger cyclists. 

If the CTC doesn’t attract younger riders to cycling, then British Cycling will (indeed it already does) and it'll be British Cycling that these new riders will join.  Before long, that could mean that the CTC would become a club of mainly retired people, representative only of an aging sector.  I would hate to see that happen. 

That’s of course assuming that British Cycling don’t eventually take over the CTC...

From British Cycling’s website: 

“The breadth of British Cycling’s work is testimony to our status as the only organisation that works across all levels of cycling – from the playground to the podium. Whether people are looking to get on a bike for the first time, wanting to find great places to ride, seeking to enter a sportive or race, or needing tips from the pros on riding safely and keeping their bike in top shape, British Cycling is with them every step of the way.”

Things you see from a bike No.2 - Bridges in Millers Dale

Back from the Birthday Rides 2012

Another "page" added, this time about the CTC Birthday Rides from which I have just returned.  A five day cycling trip, these rides take place every year in celebration of the CTC's anniversary of formation. Close to home for me, this one was, but I picked my rides to avoid my regular roads and I had a great time!  Click here to read more... 

Tandeming in the Picos de Europa

I like to keep my blog posts short, and if they get a bit too long, I put them up as "pages" which are shown up at the top left of this piece you are reading.  If you look there, you will find that I have written a page about my holiday in the Picos de Europa, which was simply a cyclists' dream holiday with stunning scenery, minimal traffic, and (almost) perfect weather!

Riding in the Evening

Here in Bishops Castle, we have a friendly, all-comers cycling group called the Castle Cyclists.   Yesterday my cycling and knitting friend Chris organised an evening ride on behalf of the group, and as she’s such a popular lady, there was a terrific turnout.  The weather hadn’t looked promising, with rain all day, and some of it torrential.  But the forecast had said it would clear and so it did.  It left behind a stormy purple sky and a wind to assist us homeward.

We set off at a moderate pace, some of our number being new to riding in a group.  We diverted along a balcony road which is a favourite of mine and were well rewarded for our climb - beneath the stormy sky the air was clear and the views were crisp and lit beautifully by the evening light. 

There is a very friendly fish and chip shop next to our destination pub, the Sun Inn, Leintwardine, so friendly in fact that they take your order in the shop and then bring it into the pub for you.  So our fish and chip supper was taken with good beer and accompanied by excellent conversation.

We took a very pretty lane out of Leintwardine, called Jay Lane.  The lane crosses a river in an exquisitely pretty spot but once over the bridge we found ourselves riding through mud, washed onto the road from the fields in what had clearly been a recent flood. I rode from then on with so much mud between my mudguard and wheel that little scraping noises accompanied me all the way home.  But I felt good, so much so that I’m not in the group photo - in a departure from my usual cycling behaviour, I’d ridden off the front of the group!

So good did I feel, that I tackled an extra and quite unnecessary hill before the end of the ride.  Finally, following a scary descent in the rapidly fading light, I tackled another half pint of excellent beer in my local pub, the Six Bells. 

The evening light throughout this ride was so sweet that I am reminded that in the beautiful countryside we live amongst, all times of the day have something to offer to a bike ride.  Midsummer’s gifts are especially benevolent, but winter has its charms too.  Whatever life throws at me, the natural world offers salvation, and at all times of the day and in all seasons, it is there for me.  All I need to do is to go out and soak it in.

What does this say about us?

Shropshire Highlands Challenge

Sometimes the best things happen unexpectedly and without planning.  For me, riding the Shropshire Highlands Cycling Challenge turned out to be one of my best rides this year, and yet I only found out I’d be riding it the afternoon previously. 

I hadn’t entered, but my husband had.  I’d planned to allow him a day of hard-riding fun with his friends, and he planned to ride to and from Ludlow (the start point) at either side of the event to make the ride even longer and harder.  But a chance phone call made him change his mind and he asked me to come along on the tandem.  I looked at the map, and decided that this was my chance to ride those pesky little roads which I dare not ride on my own.  Pesky little hilly roads, that is. 

So we drove to Ludlow, arriving in good time to meet up with his friends.  We set off at a cracking pace in a fast group, and we rode furiously to the first checkpoint at Knighton, with only the climb through the Mortimer Forest to slow us.  As we drank tea and ate cake in the Community Centre, the rain came down in buckets outside.  But as we stepped out to continue our ride, the rain stopped, and our waterproofs were off almost before we put them on. 

The climb between Knighton and Newcastle was one I had looked at on the map with a mixture of fear and excitement.  It was tough, but not as tough as I’d anticipated, and it led us to extensive views over lonely valleys and isolated farmsteads.  A well chosen turn took us around the head of a steep valley with long views down the valley, where the more direct road dipped and climbed.  We skirted the ridge before dropping into Newcastle for lunch, the rain once again starting the minute we stepped inside.

Mainstone Valley

Again we were lucky, with no need of our waterproofs as we set off on the third leg.  Very quickly we tackled the next savage climb which was quite a test so soon after eating.  It led to an undulating ridge road, through wild hills to the west of where we live in Bishops Castle.  Described in our route sheet as “The Top of the World”, it was easy to see why Two Crosses earned that name.  From there, the views were far, the clouds having passed, and Corndon and the Long Mynd were clear to see.

Dropping into Mainstone and its pretty valley, Paul and I eased off, letting the fast-boys ride away from us.  We both had twinges in our various battle-scars and the short sharp climb into Cefn Einion seemed to hurt just a little too much.  But this meant we were on our own as we descended Blakeridge Hill, and it was just as well, as we topped 70kph.  Tandems go quickly downhill and overtaking at speed on narrow lanes can be dangerous.

Boots for Sale!

Passing within a mile of our home felt strange but we pedalled on, overhauling one by one some of the tired cyclists spat out of the fast group.  We covered the relatively flat roads to the final checkpoint at Aston on Clun quickly once we turned to ride with a following wind.  Once again we regrouped with our friends, two of whom were delayed by an unexpected deviation, and once again we watched the rain peter out just before we ventured out. 

The last leg began with the kind of gentle descent which tandems handle superbly.  We rode in a tight bunch with another tandem and two solos and it was simply magical, all the more so for me as it was so far away from my usual style of rather slow riding.  

When we finished, there was a finishing medal for Paul but not for me, because I hadn’t entered. But Paul gave me his to me.  I felt I fully deserved it, but then so did he, for enabling me to have this experience.  To ride with other people is a treat for me, normally my skills only equip me to ride alone toward the back of the field.  

Nevertheless I felt like a criminal for not entering as the organisers had done a fabulous job and I had benefitted from this without paying.  So I shall make up for it in future years, possibly by entering and then bottling out and not riding!

The Kerry Ridgeway from Edenhope Hill

New Friends

Waiting to cross at the high tide

You know how it is when your paths keep crossing with an old acquaintance - not frequently, but over a long period of time, and often enough for you to end up being friends.  Well my husband has some friends like that, and since moving to Shropshire we have seen more of them and we're likely to bump into them more regularly through our local CTC group.  Through them, somehow, we found ourselves invited to spend a weekend in a Caernarfon Hostel with a mixed group of cyclists, walkers, and bird watchers on a collective event known only as “Mad Tony’s Bash”.  I only found out we were going a few days before we went, so it was all a bit of a shock for me!

I’m fairly nervous of meeting new people, but in this case, my nerves were ill founded.  For a start, there were a smattering of familiar faces amongst the group - more of those path-crossing acquaintances again.  The rest of the group were friendly to a fault, particularly Tony the organiser, one of life’s gems who gets on and does what others only think about, although he doesn’t always do what he does in a very organised way!

Old Acquaintances

We were in Caernarfon during the weekend of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, and the weather was legendary.  Fortunately our riding plans were more flexible than the Jubilee celebrations so Paul and I decided to catch up on some clothes shopping on the very wet Sunday (we live in the sticks, so opportunities are limited).  We rode our tandem on the Saturday and the Monday, being speechless with wonder at the beauty we saw both times.

I feel as though we are heading for the wettest June ever, to add to the wettest April ever.  Perhaps even the wettest year?  But the intensity of the green in the hills and valleys can seem so overpowering that I continue to feel privileged to live on this island, even if it is wet sometimes.  

My other half holds the other half of our tandem

Spinning Wheels

Now and again, I like to do a bit of knitting.  Some time ago my cycling friend Chris, who happens also to be a demon knitter, coaxed me into the local cafe Acanthus on a Wednesday morning, in order to knit and generally chat over coffee.  Over the following few weeks this became a regular thing, and three other ladies gradually joined us, knitters and cyclists all.  

One week the obvious question was asked - how is it that we knit together, but never cycle together?  We all cycle individually with our husbands, and our husbands sometimes cycle together.  But when our husbands cycle together they ride in a fast and furious dash, poisoned by their Y-chromosomes which seem to make them ultra competitive.  We ladies, on the other hand, like to ride more sedately (don’t get me wrong though, we’re not opposed to the occasional challenge).  And if we’re riding sedately, why not take our knitting with us, and ride to a friendly cafe which won’t mind us sitting there for an hour or so?

And so it was that Chris and I rode with our knitting yesterday. The other three ladies unfortunately were not available, but that wasn’t going to stop us. We rode just a 31km round trip to Montgomery with a long stop at the Castle Kitchen cafe, and a quick look around the gallery next door (long enough for Chris to buy a skirt).  Just to make it a little bit challenging, we put in a nasty climb on the way home!

We certainly won’t abandon Acanthus, as the people there have welcomed us taking up a table without complaint for many weeks - so we shall be alternating riding-to-knit with just sitting and knitting.  Besides which, Acanthus is a fantastic place to meet friends, cyclists and non-cyclists alike.

So what have I produced with my knitting needles?  Well I’m a jumper knitter, but a part-knitted jumper won’t fit in my saddlebag.  So here’s a picture of my very first sock - I just need to knit another one now!

The Bad Times, and the Very Good Times

Sometimes, when I’m out on my bike, I lose sight of why I do it.  Normally this is when an arctic wind is blowing icy rain into my face, just underlining my coldness despite too many layers of clothing constricting me to the point of cutting off my circulation, and when my fingers are so numb that they feel like they’ve been cut off. On these days I’m normally going so slowly I think that riding backwards would be quicker.  Sometimes, cycling seems to be beyond hard work and it just doesn’t seem to be fun at all.   

Finally, I'm there!  Ravenstor Hostel

On Friday, 4 May, that’s how I felt.  I was on day-2 of my ride to Ravenstor Youth Hostel to meet up with my friends, the Chester Fabulous Ladies.  The head-cold I thought I’d put behind me had come back with a vengeance, the head wind brought freezing rain into my face, and I was exhausted from my ride of the previous day, in pelting rain, which had been lengthened by my inability to find my way with the torn out pages of a road atlas, the only map I’d brought.  By the time I’d reached my Travelodge I knew my head-cold had become a chesty cough too. 

But I made it, and I met up with my friends, the end justifying the means, because I had a terrific weekend amongst great people, truly good times.  But rather than write about the weekend myself, here is a link to the Fabulous Sue’s write-up of the weekend.

So why do I cycle in bad weather when I’m unfit?  Why do I cycle at all?  Here’s a brief description of another ride I did, just a few days later on 13 May, when I’d finally recovered from my cold and chest infection.  

I slept badly and woke up tetchy, but my hubby levered me onto our tandem and we set off to ride into a beautiful Spring day.  We hauled ourselves up the impossibly steep street to the top of our town and then up the Kerry Ridgeway.  From there, the views were extensive - so many fabulous trees bursting into leaf that I wanted to stop and embrace them all.  Spring was in full and glorious flood, the hedgerows dripping with wild flowers, and a few butterflies floating from flower to flower feeding.

We rode up out of Newtown on an A-road, but this is a very lightly trafficked part of the World, so there was hardly any traffic to trouble us.  An even graded hill and a good surface was a treat for us, leading us up to the turning for the barren and wild “Source of the Mule” where we rode along a B-road without seeing a single car for 14 kilometres.  We descended on sweeping bends seeing only sheep and the occasional pheasant.  We heard ravens calling, and pipits’ plaintive cries were carried on the wind which also helped us on our way. 

We ate sandwiches by the roadside in a small village where the people, dressed for a funeral but in fact heading to a christening, chatted to us, and made us feel like friends.

We rode home on undulating wooded lanes with nature bombarding us at every turn.  We pounded the pedals, seemingly gaining strength from the beauty around us.  So good did we feel, that we added a loop onto the end of our ride, powering ourselves up an additional hill and descending to our house on our local lane which is often my first climb of a ride.  After a hilly 95 km, I felt far from exhausted - I felt invigorated. 

So again, why do I cycle in bad weather when I’m unfit?  


It’s quite simple.  The bad times make the good times, and without the one there cannot be the other.  A little fitness is necessary to enable full enjoyment of the good rides.  And fitness is gained through enduring a certain amount of hardship, pain and discomfort.  

I may struggle to remember that on a bad day, when I’m tired, cold and wet.  But somehow I always do remember it, and that’s what keeps me turning the pedals, however bad it seems to be.

Tiny New Lives

Before work finished with me, I’d have never imagined that I could get such a feeling of reward as the one I experienced a fortnight ago when I looked in my little plant pots, and saw an incredibly tiny new shoot.  Having an admittedly stupid tendency to name things, I called it “Jeremy”, and each day since then, I have looked to see how it’s been doing, almost as if it had been my own child. 

It has lots of friends now, of course, as it wasn’t the only seed I planted.  But it was the first to break out from the surface of the compost and as such it represents my first success in my plan to grow food for myself and my hubby.  Others may be expert, and some of my friends certainly seem to be, at least to me.  But I’m new to this, and it’s all to learn. 

Jeremy is a flat-leaved parsley, its friends include curly-leaved parsleys, thyme, chives, sage, coriander and a great many other things besides herbs.  I have potatoes in the ground, and a dozen other things just waiting for the risk of frost to pass so that I can encourage them into life.  

It fascinates me that seeds I can barely see are able to produce plants which grow taller than me.  Using light to photosynthesise, those little geniuses combine water with carbon dioxide to make sugars with which they feed themselves, and so grow.  But then, my hubby pointed out that our own conceptions and births, from microscopic elements, are pretty amazing too.  

Which is just as well, because if I didn’t think that I was amazing, I might never feel justified to take a bite out of Jeremy! 

Traffic - For Better, for Worse

When I wrote my piece about my recent trip to India, I included a paragraph about traffic, and I implied within that piece that I was generally less scared to cycle in heavy Indian traffic than I was in heavy English traffic.  In the pub and amongst friends, I've found myself explaining this in more detail.  So I thought I'd try and explain it more thoroughly here.
  

There is no science in this, my view is based on my perceptions rather than any recorded facts.  But I've seen forecasts suggesting that Indian traffic is set to increase by 15% per year so I feel that it's a good time to examine those perceptions.
   
Speed is a factor, certainly.  Vehicles travel more slowly in India partly because of the already severe congestion.  But they also travel more slowly on un-congested roads, too.  Perhaps this is due to the wide range of road users - on all roads, whether busy or not, you see pedestrians, bicycles, mopeds carrying three (or four) passengers, rickshaws, tuc-tucs and three-wheeled trucks; cars, larger trucks, tourist minibuses and, biggest of all, service buses.  Ad to this mix: chickens, goats, and the odd cow, and it is easy to see that care is needed by all road users to avoid hitting one another. 

You could call it "traffic calming"; my own view is that it is a mixture of vigilance, and tolerance of other road users.  Within an environment of tolerant, vigilant drivers, wherever that might be, I feel perfectly happy to ride my bike, even if there is a lot of traffic about.

In England, by contrast, we have roads with speed limits often exceeded, and very few users other than motorised users. Pedestrians are segregated onto pavements and, within cities at least, often fenced off from the roadway "for their own safety".  Cars and vehicles like to have the roads to 

themselves, without horse-riders or  cyclists to slow them.  Some even believe, incorrectly, that they, and only they, finance the road networks, so only they should be able to use them.

Cyclists (and horse-riders) do not belong on the pavements, which are there for pedestrians' exclusive use.  They belong on the roads, where they are not always welcome.  Within an environment of hostile speeding vehicles, in England or anywhere else, it's only sensible to feel scared of riding a bike amongst the traffic.  That’s my perception anyhow; and one with which, to judge the low numbers of cycle-users I see on English roads, a great many people agree.