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.

Home from India

All too soon I'm home, and home seems to be a whole planet away.   From warm, sunny cycling to freezing rain and snow, 37C to -3C, what a shock to the system!

Kerala is a land of riches.  Plants and animals, sights and sounds, smells and tastes.  Riding through the leafy lanes with a backdrop of exotic bird song and howling gibbons is an experience to cherish, topped only by the generosity and friendliness of a truly lovely people.  Read more on the specific page I have devoted to this.  Check out my "Cycling in Kerala" tab!

Time for Change

It’s been a very busy time for me, this winter.  When I last wrote in this blog in October 2010 I was waiting, like many other public servants, to see how Mr Osborne’s Spending Review of 20 October 2010 would affect me.  After much of a lifetime spent working in what seemed like the World’s safest job, I little thought that the changes which would come would be any more than a few adjustments, each of little magnitude, adding up to a bit more work and a bit less pay.  No significant change, I thought.  How wrong I was.

So by the time April comes I shall be without work.  In truth, I have rotten health so it’s something of a relief, and I’m certainly not going to moan about it.  I am fortunate that I have a husband whose income will feed us both and we will not be destitute.  I shall be shopping carefully and looking after us both well.

Bishops Castle Michaelmas Fair 2010

And as if losing my job wasn’t stressful enough, I’ll be moving house too.  We have spent this cold, cold winter in a rented home which has Victorian insulation (ie, none) and a very poor heating system.  We can’t wait to leave, and so we’ve been spending winter weekends preparing our future home so that it best meets our requirements.  No doubt I shall be blogging about solar power in the not too distant future.

All of this weekend work has meant that my bike has been locked away in hibernation!  My poor legs have hardly pedalled for three months and I’m going to have a really hard time getting fit again, especially as my new home is nestled amongst Shropshire hills, whose minor byways are not for the faint hearted.  At least I haven’t had to pump up tyres and oil chains.  But then, pumping up my tires can be exercise too, as it taxes my arms much more than knitting does. 

All change then.  A new home, a new lifestyle, and lots of adaptations.  I shall just have to wait to see how I shall cope with it all. 

Living with Fragile Health

As anyone who knows me knows only too well, my health isn’t perfect.  In fact, sometimes it’s far from perfect, and it can be very irritating, as it keeps me at home.  It keeps me at home and locked away from the wonderful wildness which I feel I need to counteract the stresses that bring me down.

I have plenty of other hobbies besides cycling, and I really shouldn’t begrudge them the pleasure they give me just because I save them for when I’m unwell.  If I’m feeling good, my knitting takes forever, because I’m so often out on my bike; but if I feel unwell, I might get a drawing done as well as some knitting.  I like to sew, and I like to write a journal.  But it’s the nature of things that my journal only ever gets an entry when I feel under the weather, and the sewing list grows longer and longer until I have a good old sewing catch-up day, normally when it’s raining stair rods outside.

But sometimes, even when I do feel under the weather, I manage to get out on my bike.  I might have to ride alone, because I’m slow and I occasionally need to hop behind a bush to answer nature’s call.  But to be upfront about it (and I’m aware that I’m blowing my own trumpet here) I do pretty well.  There are plenty of “able bodied” people who would struggle to do some of the rides I do, though there’s really nothing athletic about my riding. 

In reality, I learn over and over again that cycling actually improves my health.  I’m not about to argue that it directly does a lot for my physical health (though I think it does, to a limited extent) but it does a very great deal indeed for my psychological health.  That, in turn, heals me, providing an antidote to all of those troubles and concerns that weigh me down, including my worries and concerns about my rotten health.  One cannot be introspective whilst cycling. 

Out on my bike I feel I’m really connected with the real me.  Far from my desk at work and the dullness of my job, I am witness to the ebb and flow of life, both natural and agricultural, as it responds to the changing season.  When I travel by my own steam, I feel a sense of pride in overcoming my little handicaps.  When I don’t get out or when I can’t cycle, I miss it sorely, like a wrong that needs putting right.  It’s absence leaves me with an ache.

And it’s so good for me, that numerous people who know better than me tell me it’s even good for my heart!  If you don’t cycle yourself, it would be good for yours too.

Beauty and the Bleakness

So much does he love Wales, that it took some effort earlier this year for me to persuade my husband Paul to holiday in Scotland.  But the scenery in May took his breath away, and so we returned.  This time though we took both friends and bikes, Paul thinking that a trip along the West Highland Way (by mountain bike) might make a good tour.  My friend Chris, the wife of one of the lads riding with him, helped me move the van full of our collective luggage.  We had our bikes too of course, and we certainly made good use of them.

Caledonian Pine Wood

I don’t think we could have picked a better time to go.  Autumn’s palette has saturated the hillsides in colour, layer upon layer of reds, golds and greens rich and deep.  The grass, now turning, seemed like a million shards of amber lit from beneath, each glowing in the afternoon light, and the water in the lochs seemed to combine steely coldness with deep blue mystery.  


 

We rode through the exquisite Glen Etive.  There we saw a herd of twelve or fourteen red deer, led by a magnificent 12-point stag.  Their riverside location seemed intense in its beauty, peaceful and tranquil as well as wild and weather beaten.  We felt the wildness and the weather ourselves, for it poured down as we rode.  A double rainbow set against the stormy grey sky reminded us that this valley was indeed a pot of gold.

Raasay

Paul and I finished our holiday (after the departure of our friends) on the Island of Skye, where we had left a part of our hearts when we visited in May.  Setting off from our cosy B&B we rode along and across the Trotternish Peninsula.  To our east and offshore, the myriad of small islands making up the archipelago of Raasay seemed to float in the misty sea, the giants of the mainland mountains rising behind them magnificently.  Enveloping us gently as we went, the windswept bleakness dominated everything, and the little houses, many of them former crofts, were squat and sturdy, testament to the conditions they must stand firm against.

View from the West Highland Railway

Back on the mainland, the spectacular West Highland railway took us from Mallaig to our last night’s B&B at Milngavie, close to Glasgow.  Crossing Rannoch Moor, the word “bleak” was redefined for me.  So remote, so seemingly empty, and so beautiful in its wildness, only the red deer could call it home.  I had the feeling that if any person ever was lost there, they would never be found.

There are many places in the world I have never been, but there are many places in Britain I have never been either.  For the time being then I think that Scotland will have more visits from us, for we didn’t manage to bring home the parts of our hearts which we left in Skye last time.  Instead, we left parts of our hearts in all the other places we visited too.

Ferry in the Sound of Sleat

Fun in the Peak District

I looked out of the window this morning, and it was well and truly Autumn.  Fallen leaves are everywhere, the weather seems to have broken and the outlook is wet.  Given the date I should not be surprised, and nor am I; but every year the end of Summer gives me a slightly sad feeling, just as it does for every child at school.  It seems to feel as though the good times are over.

But of course, the good times are not over.  There is more than one way of having a good time and on every occasion I’ve ever spent time with friends, I’ve never known the weather to make even the slightest difference to the experience of being in good company.  And I have been fortunate enough to enjoy the company of some very new friends this last weekend.  The weather even seemed to be our friend too!

My husband Paul runs mountain bike weekends on behalf of CTC Holidays, both in Wales for the more experienced rider, and in the Peak District for beginners.   He makes no profit out of this, the reward he seeks is the more human reward of meeting fantastic people, and the buzz of enabling them to do something which is immense fun in fantastic surroundings. 

I tag along to the Wales trips, but my mountain biking skills are too basic to enable me to assist him with leading the rides.  The beginners’ Peak District weekend however is right up my street and I jointly lead it with Paul; I just love being a part of it and I always come away having had a fantastic time myself.  It’s my dearest wish that our participants have a superb time too, and along with Paul, I put a lot of thought into routes and tea-stop locations to ensure that we have a chance of achieving this.  It helps that I’m a map fetishist!  

The Peak District has a host of tracks, trails and bridleways, some of which are quite historic.  They offer the beginner a variety of surfaces to ride on and a great many opportunities to try new skills.  Our routes are normally a series of loops, returning to Bakewell after each one, so that if anyone doesn’t wish to continue they may bale out.  Our loops take us through Chatsworth and Haddon Hall parks, as well as through picturesque woods, along disused railway tracks, over delightful streams, along exquisite river valleys and up and down some quite challenging hills.  All of this is punctuated by tea stops at pretty cafes. 

This last weekend, our riding was punctuated by punctures too!  September is the month of hedge-clipping and we had at least 10 punctures amongst the group, almost every one of them caused by an imbedded thorn.  Next year when we run the weekend again, we’ll run it in June, before the farmers get busy with their clippers.  We’ve also decided to invest in a stock of self-adhesive puncture repair patches!

Paul intends to lead an additional new tour next year which tackles the West Highland Way in Scotland.  This is a challenging route for experienced riders from Milngavie to Fort William, and I shall be assisting by driving the support vehicle.  But Paul is a responsible leader, and he would never lead a tour he had not fully researched beforehand.  So next week he and some of our friends will be riding the route, and I will be moving the van, taking a friend with me for good company.  Once we get where we need to be, my friend and I will drag out bikes out of the back of the van and go for a ride.  But if the weather is really bad, we can always knit instead!

It might seem a shame if the weather is foul and our views restricted (and the forecast says it will be foul) but rain brings it’s own beauty, and I have seen the sublime beauty of Scotland in the rain before.  So I shall try to stay away from my knitting, but I’m making no promises!