Miracles Happen...

Not long ago (2 July 2013, to be precise) I wrote about why I felt that mountain biking was not for me.  It’s true that I’ll never be good at it, but that’s no reason not to enjoy it.  All it needs is a change of philosophy.

Somehow, just facing my inadequacies seems to have changed my philosophy.  You wouldn’t think that such a negative thing could have a positive result, but it has.  It’s almost as though by accepting that I’m rubbish I no longer care whether I am or not.  So I am free to get off and walk, free to miss bits out, and free to “dab” as often as I like. 

This weekend my husband ran another of his mountain bike weekends, and this time I found it impossible to avoid.  Not only was it to be held just 8 miles from my home, but some of my best friends were going to be there and I felt it would be positively cowardly for me to stay away.  So my poor neglected mountain bike, stored for over a year with its bars turned, was dragged into the light of day.  Just to make sure I could ride it I rode the 8 miles to the event, incorporating four climbs into my route - three climbs on tarmac and one off-road. 

Somewhere along the off-road bit I remembered something I'd realised long ago but which I'd forgotten as I'd sunk into self doubt.  This is what I remembered.

For me, mountain biking is about these four things:

Riding routes that a normal bike won’t go
Seeing views you can see no other way
Discovering places you could never reach by road, and
Getting to places by routes which are wild and traffic free.

For some people, it’s not about these things - it’s about overdosing on adrenaline on a man-made trail at a trail centre.  But these trail centres are never going to be my cup of tea.

So the next day, I joined in with the organised ride (the “slow” group, of course) and with bits of walking interspersed amongst my riding, I managed the whole ride.  And the only time I nearly fell off was at the moment when I realised I was enjoying myself.

Clearly time off the knobbly-tyred beast has been good for me.  And Adstone Hill, where my moment of clarity hit me, is a simply stunning spot I shall visit again.  When I do I shall try to remember to photograph it, for the time being though, I have taken the liberty of borrowing a simply fabulous shot from someone called Glen Wood - I hope he doesn't mind!

Picture of the ancient track on Adstone Hill (by Glen Wood)

Change

I feel that change is coming - and change which I must try to look at positively.  I took redundancy two years ago because my delicate health had suffered and I was offered the opportunity.  And for two years I have enjoyed the privilege of not having to work because of my husband’s salary which has kept us both fed and clothed.  Now my husband’s job is ending.

During my unemployed time I have discovered a love of gardening, helped to build a sociable group of knitting cyclists, and rekindled my dormant love of painting.  But some of these activities are only possible in the right environment.  Painting, for example, needs time and space around it; it just isn’t possible to cram a painting into a spare half-hour.

As I ride around I see and feel my inspiration.  I ride amongst hills criss-crossed by field boundaries, and these images lodge in my mind and work their way onto my paper at some future time, normally weeks later.  I stop by a bridge, dismount and climb down to the riverbank. Burned into my memory is a moment of exquisite happiness which I just have to express, either by writing (I have kept a journal for more reasons than I can remember) or by painting.  Cycling feeds my painting, and painting gives a rich dimension to my cycling.

Working can bring many rewards (besides income) of course.  The company of a good and friendly team working with a common goal can be immensely rewarding.  Having a laugh with colleagues is every bit as good as having a laugh with friends.  To find work amongst people who understand the appeal of cycling would be a rare opportunity, but I will seek it nonetheless.  

But if I go back to work, I fear for my painting.  During the 28 years that I worked I only ever found time to paint on the rare occasions that I was off work sick. 

The very thought of losing my painting makes me shiver with a kind of grief.  I must see the positives; but for today at least, I am struggling to do that. 

Dolygaer - one half-hour walk, two training exercises, three trial runs and fourth time lucky with the final painting.

Purposeful Rides

Riding with a purpose is good for me.  Specifically, riding to get somewhere - a particular destination - provides me with many rewards.  A target to motivate me, an achievement to savour, new, previously undiscovered roads, and the delights of the ride: all these things enthuse me.  Mine may be small achievements but they make me feel good about myself. 

Paul musters his riders

My husband ran one of his mountain bike events this last weekend, based at Talybont on Usk, just south of Brecon in South Wales.  On similar trips in the past I discovered bit by bit that mountain biking wasn’t for me.  Time after time as I watched those around me have terrific fun on tricky descents I simultaneously came face to face with what seemed to be my inadequacies, as I saw those same descents as downright dangerous.  I allowed myself to get down about it, feeling like a failure.

But that’s not a fair reflection.  Each of us has strengths and weaknesses.  We can’t all be good at everything and we would be foolish to forget that.  For me, trying to be an effective mountain biker was never going to work and beating myself up about it is as pointless as it is self-destructive. 

Cycle touring, in even the broadest sense, is where my cycling heart lies.  To get from one place to another under my own steam feels good and it has a purpose for me which seems to fit my personal philosophy.  Two weeks cycling through Scotland, panniers loaded with all we need, is cycle touring.  But so too is a one-direction ride starting in one place and finishing somewhere else, carrying only the days’ requirements.  Riding a circuit, starting and finishing at home, doesn’t quite have that sense of purpose - though obviously it can also be great fun. 

So I rode from our home to Talybont, my husband taking a bag for me in the van before he met up with his group for a mountain bike circuit.  For the remainder of the weekend, I provided van-based support for his tour. 

My husband also does challenge rides; his recent rides have finished in Corwen and Bala.  So I have ridden to Corwen and Bala to meet him at the finishes.  His needs are met, my needs are met, we both feel we’ve accomplished something and we both finish smiling. 

Now I’m looking for every opportunity for purposeful rides.  They are challenges to fit my size and they give me a buzz I need. 

Pen y Fan

Just back from Scotland...

I've been away in Scotland for a couple of weeks, and I'm just back. The first week consisted of my hubby and I riding the northern half of Sustrans route 7 (Lochs and Glens) from Balloch, near Glasgow, up to Inverness. The second week saw us meeting up with a CTC tour (we do quite a few CTC tours) to ride from Inverness to Durness and then back to Inverness. Over the two weeks we rode 821 km, all on our trusty tandem, Carlos.

We had a fortnight of pure spectacle. My photos don't do justice to the exquisite beauty of the place, but I'll upload some soon. I'm working on what will be a rather lengthy blog piece about the trip and I'll post it when I finish it, but for now, this photo will give a flavour. 

Speedy Recovery!

The dreadful cold and chest infection which laid me low kept me off my bike for the best part of a month.  My bucket emptied, so to say, and right down to the muck at the bottom.

My first ride after the enforced break was a shortish, flattish ride on the tandem.  I coughed and spluttered throughout, and was exhausted by the half-way mark.  But my husband’s strong legs looked after me, though he was only a week ahead of me in his recovery, and he’d been just as exhausted as I was only a week earlier. 

This weekend was our second post-recovery ride.  We’d had the opportunity to leave the van in Chester on Friday night, and the weather forecast for Saturday was for a deteriorating day.  So we set off early to ride a one-way route to Chester, the tailwind and the terrain assisting us. 

We flew!  We really sped along, and I don’t think I coughed more than half a dozen times.  I felt so much better than just one week before - tailwinds really are quite magical!  Best of all, the rain waited until we’d closed the van door to begin our drive home before coming down in truckloads.

So perhaps my fitness-bucket wasn’t as empty as I thought. I hope not anyhow, as we have only a few weeks to get ourselves into condition for a challenging two week tour of Scotland.  It’ll be great, though I’ll be surprised if the weather proves as advantageous to us as it did on Saturday!

A little change to the blog...

If you are one of the (very) few people who occasionally look at my blog, then you'll notice a few changes. I have changed the background, for no other reason than that I felt like a change, and I have also moved the Fragile Brush page to a completely separate blog. The tab on the left will take you there as it did before, but any links I sent to anyone before the change won't work I'm afraid. 

Spring is trying to arrive, and it does look like I shall have a pair of blue tits nesting in one of my bird boxes. So I shall add another cycling blog entry soon, I'm over my cough now and the bike awaits!

Home Again

We're home - and we got here in the nick of time!  One day later and we probably wouldn't have made it - snow drifts all over the country have brought traffic to a standstill and thousands of people have had journeys disrupted.

But we got home safe and sound, though each of us brought with us the cold and cough with which we had been burdened for our final days in Essex.  As I write this, I'm still suffering badly with mine, though my husband is on the mend.  Not that the colds have kept us indoors - the weather has seen to that!  

I've been using my time indoors to paint and going to finish this very short blog with a small version of my last Essex watercolour (last for now, anyhow).  Beeleigh Lock was very close to our accommodation, and I visited it almost every day.  For ten weeks it was in flood - I'm sure it is navigable by narrowboat in summer (when it would also be much greener) but this picture is my interpretation of how I saw it - in beautiful fury. 

(I'll put a bigger version of the picture on my "Fragile Brush" page).

Barriers Send me New Ways

Sometimes a combination of weather and work commitments keep us from our bikes, and sometimes the weather alone achieves this.  During the weekend just past, it was mainly Paul’s work - not that he had to go, but that being on call he might have to go.  In the event he went three times, one of those times in the dead of Saturday night.  Neither of us felt like riding yesterday.

So from a cycling point of view the weekend was a bit of a waste of opportunity.  But that meant that I had the opportunity to spend time with another hobby, and so that’s what I did. 

In fact, for some weeks now I have been working with my watercolour paints.  I felt rusty having done nothing with them other than to store them for quite a few years, and so I decided that “practice” was needed. I filled a sketchbook with my practice, and I’ve produced a few pieces that I’m proud of.  It’s been great fun but also difficult - and a trifle expensive, as my old paints had dried up and needed to be replaced. 

It’s a great feeling, having my original artistic outlet back. It seems that my time away from home has swept aside a block I had - and given me so many ideas and so much inspiration that I just can’t keep it inside any more.  But then of course I’ve been trying to catch interesting shots with my camera for a long time - and here’s a shot I took (with my phone - some opportunities just need to be snatched) which I just love!

New Roads, New Rivers

With our tandem finally liberated from the snow and ice, and being away from home, my husband Paul and I decided yesterday to take advantage of one of the many benefits of being CTC members by riding with new friends on new roads.  Ride, that is, with friendly complete strangers, on completely strange roads that we knew they would show to us. 

We had a cold and wet start, but the weathermen had assured us that the rain would pass and so with enthusiasm borne of cabin fever we packed waterproofs and set off.  Against a strong headwind we battled our way to Chelmsford, using mainly main roads because we knew no better.  At the bus station there we met up with four other riders, and guided by our leader, Martin, we set off with the wind behind us. 

We didn’t know what to expect.  Essex is decidedly flatter than Shropshire and there’s a lot more traffic, but good company makes up for a great deal and CTC riders always find the best routes (and the best tea stops, obviously).  Our new companions were lovely people and like us, they were riding with sluggish legs due to a lack of winter riding.  So we were well strung out, particularly on the several undulations which the route threw at us. 

Outside the cafe at Heybridge Basin

We stopped for tea at Heybridge Basin.  Though only about two miles as the crow flies from our temporary home, the river and canal crossings make it a very long walk away and so we hadn’t previously been there.  It’s a place to go again though - the cafe overlooked the sea lock where the Chelmer and Blackwater Navigation Canal enters the Blackwater Estuary, and it overlooked Northey Island, with its fabulous birdlife, too.  With yachts bobbing against the breakwater in the high tide, it was a fabulous place to see. 

Moving on, we climbed through Maldon, a proper hill climb by anyone’s standards, and a busy road too.  Riding out of Maldon we passed the turning for our temporary home but we held our resolve to continue to the lunch stop, which was at a pub at East Hanningfield. 

The lanes we took were bordered by gullies and often also by narrow wooded strips. Every gully was flooded - in this low lying arable farming land there is much ancient wisdom about drainage, and evidence of it is everywhere.  We saw hardly any flooded fields, the water management seems to be effective enough to avoid the worst.

Two other riders from places other than Chelmsford had joined us at Heybridge.  One of these, a man called Dave, rode with us and guided us back to our temporary home, on his way to his own home.  He was a remarkable man - only five months ago he was in hospital for several weeks recovering from multiple fractures of hip and pelvis, caused by a collision with a car.  I believe this was his first ride since the accident.  I was astonished by the lack of evidence of his injuries.  

We were home by four pm, having had a fabulous day.  In the garden of our temporary home by the river, it was obvious that the high tide had brought the river higher than we had ever seen it, and almost into the garden.  So I went out with my camera at high tide today to take the shots which follow.  I’m not sure I shall ever see such a dramatic river system as this ever again. 

This is the same tree which is in the snowy picture in my previous blog entry. But how different the river looks!

Taken from the far side of the river, the path here is underwater, and the two distant trees stand on a small island which is completely covered.

This is the main weir at high tide and in flood - The point from where I took my "low tide shot" in the previous blog is underwater. 










This is the weir from the other side - I was frightened to cross the bridge, so thunderous was the water!  In the background you can see the overflowing canal lock.

No wonder they shut the canal to pleasure boaters in winter!

Estuary Land

Winter can be monotonous and long, with the weather interrupting plans and throwing in difficulties at every turn.  With most of the country gripped by snow and ice, we thought it would be nice to travel south in winter, with the hope of escaping it all.  Last year we managed to get away to India for a fortnight.  But this year we are not as far south as that - we’re in Essex!  

But Essex has been lucky, having had only a light and picturesque dusting of snow.  It has not escaped the freezing temperatures though and so our bikes have been locked in the van for many days, with no chance of our being able to ride them. 

Garden View

I’ve made good use of my time; learning to paint (again) from scratch.  It’s been easy to be inspired - our temporary home is in the most exquisite spot, with a tidal river bordering our garden and a system of locks and weirs just a few hundred yards from our door.  I have always had a fascination with water, so I am in heaven here, and I walk out each day to see the effect of the tide on the weirs and the wildlife that lives there. 

Yesterday, we managed our first Essex ride.  With many icy patches remaining on the roads we chose to stay on gritted surfaces, and that meant riding B roads.  We rode the tandem down to Burnham on Crouch, over land so flat that we felt like we were flying.  But I saw plenty to interest me, mainly winter thrushes and eastern arable birdlife, finches and partridges, in quantities I simply never see in my Marches home. 

We took a short detour before returning home, along a road leading to a causeway across to a low lying island, Northey, in the Blackwater Estuary.  Well over a thousand Brent Geese were feeding in a field of stubble onshore, and in the muddy riverbank, tens of thousands of wading birds took advantage of the receding tide.  It was simply a breathtaking sight.

I’d done my RSPB “Big Garden Birdwatch” before we’d set out.  I have counted 14 species of birds feeding in and below just the one tree immediately outside of my window.  But as I rested on the sofa following my ride yesterday, I saw the fifteenth - a Goldcrest, flitting around the branches.  

Here, wildlife comes to my window.  But if I ride only a short way, it is there in spectacular and magnificent, wild and windswept abundance.

Low tide, but flooded from melting snow