Of plans, ideas and notions.

I can't remember the exact date or programme I was watching but sometime last year I caught a snippet on television about the Wayland's Smithy and the folklore attached to it. Now I'm a superstitious pagan at heart, and the the thought of being able to plan a trip around this location; and the village of Avebury somewhere else I had long wanted to head to, excited me.
I booked a chunk of leave off work many months in advance and began to plan.
It made sense to make use of the Ridgeway* to travel between the sites and as I was doing it by bicycle I might as well see how far along the Ridgeway I could get as well. After all, April was normally nice and warm wasn't it?

Last week was certainly warm, but with an unerring inevitability that comes with trips being planned this week marked a turn in the weather toward the rather fresh side. Still the forecast (ha ha) looked manageable for cycle touring. The last comparable trip had been in September with my friend Dave with whom I explored the southernmost bothy in Wales on my cyclocross bike. This time I had a new bike; my hefty Raleigh Maverick which has an all-up weight heavy enough to plough furrows.

Loaded up with seat pack containing sleeping bag, tipi flysheet and gas canister, frame bag containing tipi pole and pegs, flapjacks, wash kit, loo roll and other ephemera, and bar bag containing sleeping mat and mess tins I rounded off with a small Acre Hauser backpack containing some spare clothes, super noodles and maps. I was carrying my water on the bike this time instead of on my back and that helped a lot. I still took too much and I think each trip is an exercise at thinning down. What would be beneficial would be fork mounted bags or a larger bar bag or porteur rack so I could ditch the backpack all together. I digress.

Setting off from my Mum's just outside Chippenham I headed cross country toward Avebury. I was using the frankly excellent Polaris map trap to keep ahold of the maps and it made life so much easier. As a note, OS maps fold just right to fit into a large Ziploc bag. Instant waterproof map! My step-dad had kindly given me the map of the local area as it was one I was lacking, and he provided the details for the first leg to Avebury.

The first sighting I had of something really exciting was the white horse at Cherhill and set me in good mood for carrying on toward Avebury.

A gentle trundle along the A4 and soon I reached the chance to leave the main road and head along the byway taking the more traditional route into the village. This meant passing by the two long stones, Adam and Eve, the only two left standing from that direction.

Leaving them the gentle byway took me right into the village with only a pause to stop by the community shop for postcards, and not bother looking in the commercial gift shop next door.

Postcards written and posted it was time for a pint and some lunch in the pub. Mixed affair but still it filled a hole. I had a quick look at the other stones around the village and chatted to another cyclist before pressing on.

The village was nice enough but still lots of signs of erosion around the stones and the National Trust doing a lot of work to keep things in order. Granted I was a tourist too but it was a quiet Monday afternoon and there were enough people milling about to keep it busy. Out of Avebury and to West Kennett where the recent iteration of the Ridgeway begins. The photo at the top was taken by the initial fingerpost. The conditions were dry and the ground firm with plenty of washboard and ruts to bounce across. I'll be honest I didn't feel too much hope about enjoying it at this stage as my arms and legs took a pounding from the rigid bike and surface.
Gradually it smoothed off, as the distance from the car park grew and soon it was quite pleasurable to ride.

I wasn't sure when to expect surface changes but with each rise and fall of the landscape the underlying geology revealed itself where the grass or crops were worn away. The views from Barbury Castle were quite spectacular and it took me a while to realise that the large grey/purple/blue patches weren't lavender (too early) or water (too neat) but solar farms.

Heading on from the tops I paused to chat to a chap riding the other direction and who it turned out lived locally. As I asked a few questions about directions and conditions he told me that the Ridgeway as a route had many iterations and most points could be reached by several of them. I stuck to the main trail as marked on my map, and supported by the fingerposts but it was interesting to know. I caught up with a couple of walkers further along and rode alongside chatting for a while. The common denominator was we were both carrying whisky. I said I was stopping to make a brew further along the route toward Liddington and would maybe see them there.
At an intersection of 3 ways I had a pause and look back to see from where I had come and to see if I could spot the walkers.

I couldn't so I pressed on toward the hill fort at Liddington and a chance to find somewhere out of the wind to brew up. Whilst the view from where I had come was pleasant enough

The spot I was brewing in was rather less salubrious!

Still, it was out of the wind and a chance to rest up.
As I packed away the skies darkened and the wind began to pick up in gusts; bending the trees above me and really whistling around the pillbox I was sheltered by. I paused a moment to consider waiting out the ensuing rain in the pillbox but it was just too scuzzy so I donned my rain jacket, tugged the peak of my cap down and pressed on. I was only in the rain for about half an hour but with the wind chill it was enough to have me considering options for tea and warming up. My back was twinging and the thought of somewhere warm was appealing. At another byway intersection I slowed to speak to two ladies in a pony and trap and ask their advice about local pubs. With a couple of names in my ears I carried on until I found a water stop at Ridgeway farm and then another chance to drop off the Ridgeway down into Ashbury. I noted wryly that the descent down carried a warning sign of 10% gradient. Wryly as I knew to rejoin the trail I'd be riding back up it!
With the kitchens just opening and some tasty pie on the way I soon settled in.

If you're ever passing, I can heartily recommend the Rose and Crown in Ashbury.
The problem I now had was that I was warming up, comfortable and with a few hours of daylight left, contemplating my next move. My inner monkey was twitching to head back to my Mum's 30 miles away by road but I knew I wanted to get to the Smithy which wasn't too much further up the trail. After a coffee to spur me on I departed the comfort of the pub and climbed back up that hill.
It was worth it.
Utterly worth it.

My goosebumps had begun from the moment I turned off the trail to get to the Smithy and they tingled strongly the whole time I was there walking around the barrow.

It really is quite impressive. With a tot of whisky poured and supped I moved on.
Next up was the White Horse at Uffington and the ground began to reveal the bone-white underlying chalk as I rode.

With the time passing and the sun beginning to set as I wandered around the hill fort I saw the horse from an odd angle

with Dragon hill just below and the hill fort behind me it was a commanding view of the landscape.

I made the call to stay the night instead of taking the stupid option of riding back. After all that was the underlying reason I had come this far and carried all the kit. I found somewhere out of sight and set up the tipi before turning in for the night as the cold came. I was so cold I put every item of clothing I had on. Predictably it was about an hour later when I woke in sweat absolutely baking. Removing all the extra layers and just down to my base layer and ron hills I was settling back down to sleep when I cold hear a rustling outside. Peering out of the fly and I was bemused; was it the wind just being amplified by the tipi? A moment of silence was broken by rustling and the shadows of rabbits moving about. Phew, it wasn't the smithy come to get me, or ancient horses.

Woken at just after 4am by a skylark my grump at being awake was tempered by the beauty that is birdsong. I was warm and cosy in the sleeping bag but a peek outside revealed that the temperature had dropped enough to frost any damp areas. With more layers donned I set up a brew for breakfast, cursing the lack of a windbreak.

The backpack helped a bit and once the coffee was made I dropped the tipi and packed everything up. Coffee drunk and the recalcitrant sleeping mat squeezed into the bar bag on the second attempt with numb fingers I double checked my surroundings and pedalled off.
I had decided that I didn't have enough warm cycling gear to continue further along the Ridgeway, and this was reinforced as I rode out to head back towards my beginning. Again despite having all the clothing I had with me on, I was shivering. I rolled along the lanes instead of along the top to try and find warmth out of the wind but it was no good. The weather was bitter. Surprisingly I passed several other cyclists though all with far more clothing on than I! A brief pause at a village shop for a Snickers, my long-standing favourite snack of choice and a phone call from a friend and I was away again. The change from riding along the Ridgeway to passing through the villages beneath meant I was spending time checking my route on the map a lot more instead of being able to roll freely. I should have stuck to the top and gritted it out. A lesson learned.

By around 9 I was feeling somewhat jaded and my hummingbird metabolism was kicking in. Time for second breakfast. It was to consist of the same as the first but still it would be welcome.

I sat for 20 minutes whilst the water boiled and I subsequently supped the coffee and munched the flapjack. I was about an hour from finishing and felt satisfied with what I had done. No great mileage but certainly a challenge and an opportunity to see new old sights. My final few miles took me alongside the Maud Heath Causeway and despite the road being dry at this time I felt the need to make use of the monument.

Within a quarter of an hour I was back at my car and able to change and warm up. It was almost 22 hours since I had set off yet it seemed like so much more time. The stats, dull as they are; were 78 miles ridden, 4,800ft climbed, average speed 12 mph. I really learned a few more things about bikepacking and how best to do it, I'm sure these will be refined further. I've not finished with the Ridgeway yet. I also learned more about my anxiety and how to deal with it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. The trick is to keep trying and to remind myself to keep trying.

*I found the National Trail website very useful in detailing where the route went, and water points as well as additional info regarding the leniency on trail-side camping; leave no sign of doing so and be considerate AKA don't be a dick. Good rule for life.

Above all else, or Quitting because it just wasn't fun anymore.

First off, it's been a year. So quickly time has gone past.
It's a useful measurement, or a good gap to have in order that what follows has more merit.
The reason being that around a year ago I was looking for a cycling coach to help me get faster and place higher in races. Around that time give or take a few weeks I had just found a coach and was making arrangements for initial physiological testing with them.
I had high expectations of both myself and of the coach.
This isn't going to be a negative diatribe on coaching or individual coaches but more an observation on life and decisions made.
The testing revealed that I wasn't a great performer and that opportunities for huge progression were poor due to my genetic make up, but there was opportunity to build on what I had. Agreements were made and I had myself a coach. I finished the 2014 racing season and lined myself up for the operation in early January to repair my shoulder after the 2013 crash.
From February on everything I did became centered around my training plans. Going to visit friends? Got to take the bike and kit and fit in several hours of riding. Fancy a romantic meal? Got to get a ride in before. Leading a club ride? Got to make sure it's pedalled at my training plan zone.
So it continued. Early indications were good and I was pleased with how I was performing against the plan. Whilst my cycling was improving the rest of the things within my life were becoming shabby. The garden was getting overgrown but I didn't have time or energy to fix it because I was or had been cycling. The house needed repainting but I didn't have the time or energy for it because I was cycling. I was going to see friends but I was back early because I was cycling.
At no point did I remember that I started cycling again to help me deal with my mental anxiety issues.
At no point did I remember that I had written in the front of a book on training that I'd gifted to a good friend; 'remember it's supposed to be fun'.

2015 Battle on the Beach. What should've been a fun event left me feeling disappointed as I felt I had chosen the wrong gear ratio to race in singlespeed thus slipping down the field.
What I should have come away feeling was happy that I was in the top third of the field despite being on the wrongly geared bike, and that the sheer act of riding along the beach and through the woods and dunes with like-minded people was great.

Injuries or illnesses seemed to crop up more regularly. My usual accident-prone self was suffering more with niggles and aches and bugs. I was eating healthily yet was crook a lot more.
I raced a club time trial too soon after having been bed-ridden with Campylobacter and was vomiting as I rode from a mixture of exertion and simply still being too ill. But that didn't matter. What mattered was getting a good time.
When that good time didn't happen, because I was ill and yet too stupid to realise, I was disappointed so I had to train harder. I saw the benefits of being struck with Campy in that I had suddenly lost a lot of weight and was lither than I had been for a very long time.

I could hardly walk the day after that 10 mile TT due to back pain yet I had finished 10th on a course that many disliked yet somehow I had found good. I had actually enjoyed the race.
I started to try little things, little marginal gains, to ease my pains. The oval chainrings were removed to see if a constant effort would help. The handlebars were raised, then lowered then raised again. The aero extensions, the skis, were changed to ease the pain from my broken and pinned wrist and shoulder. I tried several pharmaceuticals to try and ease the pains whilst riding from my suffering body. I can confirm that Valium does not help set a good time in a 10 mile TT. That Codeine makes you actually want to have a sleep, not push your body to the limit of what it is capable of.

In July I had the biggest and best day of my life and it was nothing to do with cycling. I got married. The whole effort brought on a massive focal point of pain into my back and I can't remember it ever being more painful. I was dosed up on Tramadol, Valium, Cocodamol, Gabapentin, enough pills to knock a pachyderm out yet I can remember the whole day and the drugs seemed not to even hit the sides. What saw me through the day was two things; the love and support of those who were there with me both on the day and in the months leading up to it, and the knowledge that I was going to be with the person who I truly loved and cared about so deeply it shocked me. I danced that evening like I had never danced before. There was no pain, there was no talent or style, there was just sheer exuberance and joy. There are also no pictures (that I am sharing).

I stopped being coached during that time and remain un-coached. The drills that I was supposed to be undertaking were too much for me to do without physical repercussions. It was an amicable split and I doubt the coach missed my monthly pay cheque or mixed-feedback forms on the training plans. Whilst it was a little thing to do the impact of it was much bigger. I had control again over what I wanted to do. I still wanted to cycle but the format changed. I had learned from my time with the coach and from the books I had read on training and I could see that likely I wasn't going to live up to my own ambitions. But that it was ok to fail.
I wasn't and I'm not impervious or indestructible. Those injuries accrued over the years are making themselves felt as I age, but I have learned that I can tolerate an awful lot of pain and still carry on. I have learned that I have the mental strength to dig in and go that bit harder when it's needed. I rode, and set a PB, in a 50 mile Time Trial 4 days after breaking my wrist. I didn't get through that just with training. I got through that because of the mental strength knowing my sister was going through much more pain and discomfort than I was due to illness yet was running the longest race that she had ever done. It's those additional things that provide the strength each day to each of us. We're far more capable of actions than we think we are. There are times to be negative and sad and there are times to be elated. If we didn't have the shit times then we'd never know how to celebrate the truly good. Life isn't magnolia.

I saw opportunities to take what I had and grow with it. I bought a mountain bike and went and rode in the hills nearby because it was great fun.

I had chips and a pint afterwards because it was great fun and bloody tasty.
I've redefined my goals. I loved riding time trials when the bike was humming away underneath me and the wind was whistling past my head. When then sounds were of the trispoke front wheel chopping through the air and of the strain of the chain as I pushed against the pedals. That 50 mile Time Trial was the last I am riding for now. I don't know when or if I'll TT again but it won't be next year. That's fine. I'm ok with that. I liked how racing gave me a focus but I didn't like how that focus became all-consuming. I look forward to finding new avenues for my competitive streak which has developed and maybe we can have a pint together some time. I never share chips.

Long time, long thoughts.

Readers who like to come here and look at the pretty photos or the pushbikery (there is a little bit) may want to skip this one as it's going to be a waffle about my achilles heel, or more precisely my anxiety issues.
Let's indulge a little and have a rewind back to 2009/10.
*cue Wayne's World shimmying*

I began to fret about little things; was the cat ok? I kept having to check to make sure he was fine and happy. This would even be needed in the early hours of the morning. I used to be a heavy sleeper but that was changing and I would wake and suddenly need to find Roscoe and make sure he was ok and elicit a purr. Then it got slightly worse still and I began to worry about getting a hangover if I had a beer.

Physical manifestations started with a tight feeling in my abdomen which would leave me feeling sick but I never had any bowel issues although this didn't stop the GP diagnosing IBS and booking me in for a colonoscopy. Of course my anxiety (ah hindsight) immediately went straight to the worse case scenario; I clearly was going to find out that I had bowel cancer.
Again with the benefits of hindsight the cocodamol and anti-spasmodics I was prescribed really didn't help. The painkillers were beginning to spin me out and the Mebeverine would leave me feeling gassy and bloated. Not helping when the cocodamol were bringing on the constipation.

Why was my mind wandering and letting the anxieties develop? Work was with enjoyable people but really wasn't challenging, especially after coming out of being mentally challenged in an under-grad then post-grad environment. I was spending less time able to mentally commit to the job in hand and more time negatively daydreaming. Even down to thinking that colleagues were going next door to chat with the boss and laughing at my work.

I had an horrendous weekend away with friends on the motorbike up on North Wales (The Dragon Rally) where due to the pressures of having to organise 14 people, devise the route and then lead the route as well as not eating well (I'm always hungry) meant that when we got to North Wales I was in bits and had to call NHS direct as I was convinced I was going to die. Friends got me through that night (thanks Al, I still remember you coming to find me after I wasn't in the bunkhouse and you were convinced I'd gone feral and gone off to die under a bush and I'd just nipped for a piss.)

When the appointment for the colonoscopy came up 5 months after my GP visit imagine my surprise when all that was carried out was a sigmoidoscopy. Now I was even more stressed out. Two more months passed until the colonoscopy and that came back clear. No bowel cancer then. No nothing really apart from some wild rice that had escaped the pre-scopy clear out...

As the year came to an end there was a glimmer of hope; I had a counselling assessment. By this time I had dropped in weight from 16 1/2 stone to 14 stone through not really having any appetite and also trying to cut various things out; lactose, gluten, alcohol from my diet.

By the time I saw the counsellor I had decided to do something positive with the weight loss and got the bike I'd bought on cyclescheme out and began riding again. The last time I'd ridden was back in my early 20s and I used to cycle a lot so was expecting to jump back on again and be flying. The reality was that within 400yards I was panting and aching. There was a marker point 2 miles from my house and so I began cycling there and back. It would make me feel sick through exertion and I would have to take a seasickness pill once home on occasion to stop feeling so sick. Most times I went out I would get overtaken by an old fellow on his commute home going up a hill. I could make it halfway up but would then be off and walking. I was determined to make it up the hill (I did eventually).

The counsellor was very good. We talked about the family history of depression and my concerns that I was going to follow that route. After many questions I was told that I wasn't depressed, but was anxious. Whilst no one likes to find out there is something wrong with them, it was a relief to have it quantified.

The counselling carried on and so did the cycling. Soon I was up to 8 miles, then 15 miles. The feeling of achievement was amazing and real. The evenings I went cycling after work I slept so much better. The counselling stopped but the cycling didn't. Along with swimming once a week I was beginning to get fitter. My weight had levelled off at a bit under 14 stone (I've never been that bothered by my weight.) More miles were being ridden and I was determined to do 25 miles. Which I did, and then did more times.

I still couldn't deal with being away though and again I abandoned a Dragon Rally and rode 4 hours  back through the cold February night getting home with only vapours in the tank after every petrol station on the A470 was shut. Of course they were shut as I left the North at 10pm and it was 2am by the time I arrived home. Anyone sensible was asleep.

Still on the cocodamol and likely not doing well with the effects.

2011 also saw a change of employment after taking redundancy from my old job as the place was going to the dogs and a new opportunity had arisen. That first day I can still remember having to fight every urge my body had to run away and instead stay there and do the day. It took a couple of weeks before those feelings had settled, but I was glad I stuck at them and the job. More cycling, swimming and again the more I exercised the better sleep I had and the more I was able to concentrate in work.

Into 2012 and my weight was slowly dropping just down to exercise. It wasn't something I was aiming to achieve but it was noticeable that I kept needing smaller shirts and trousers, as well as smaller shoes! 2012 was a good year and after completing a ride from London to Paris with friends for a holiday I was in good enough form to join a local cycling club. I even treated myself to a new bike, the Burls of Doom! 

2013 was an injury fest with a broken finger, broken bike and knackered AC joint, writing off the car and breaking 3 ribs and cracking my pelvis and finally doing a SLAP lesion, breaking another rib and a segment of my collarbone to round the year out. The kicker here was the medication (again) with me being prescribed Tramadol to deal with the pain from the car crash and continuing that to deal with the pain from the bike crash. 3 1/2 months of Tramadol was not a good place to be and along with massive headaches I was sleeping just an hour and a half a night due to shaking, heart palpitations (MIND has excellent information on panic attacks, if you need to explain to a close one what is going on), being convinced I had a brain bleed (a CT scan and neurologist ruled otherwise) most of which I realised were down to the Tramadol side effects. I began to cut them down and after almost 4 weeks the crazy feelings had dissipated. The only thing remaining was the massive headaches. Another GP appointment and a small dose (10mg) of Amitriptyline was prescribed to relax my nerves and muscles. Within a week the headaches had ceased and I was able to sleep again. I didn't like the morning after grogginess of the Ami though and ended up quartering the tablets and only taking the miniscule amount.

I had been sent to see a counsellor again and this one was different to the previous. The session began with all the history being dragged up, not just from the last time I had been there but from my youth. This wasn't working. These were all mental issues that I had dealt with and put to bed. I told the counsellor this and we moved on. Another appointment was made, which the counsellor then cancelled on the morning. For those of you who have been lucky enough not to have needed counselling there is an agreement that as a patient you won't cancel within 24hours of appointments. I remarked that this clearly didn't apply to counsellors. I was never called back to make another appointment. Which was fine as I had decided that I wasn't going back. I was prescribed twice books on Cognitive Behavioural Therapy but both times I found them to be massively patronising and at such a dumbed down level to not be of use.

I know that it is my head that makes me feel like this, that makes me build worse case scenarios but it's that I struggle with getting beat. I do know as well that physical exertion either through exercise or work helps massively. My anxieties are fear based, fear of something holding me back or preventing me from doing something with my life. To tackle these immediately provokes a lethargy in action from me and I find it a huge effort to do what is needed to resolve the fear. I know that if I stick at it I will beat this but I am my own worst enemy. I still have bad nights; some spices in food set me off as do certain alcoholic drinks but I can get through it. I can talk about what is getting to me with my friends and I can view it with humour; it's always the monkey on my back.  I am open about the issues I have, perhaps too open sometimes but hey my anxiety isn't visible and sometimes I need to explain a little.

More words

The Unsettled Motorcyclist's
vision of his Death
 
Across the open countryside,
Into the walls of rain I ride.
It beats my cheek, drenches my knees,
But I am being what I please.
The firm heath stops, and marsh begins.
Now we're at war: whichever wins
My human will cannot submit
To nature, though brought out of it.
The wheels sink deep; the clear sound blurs:
Still, bent on the handle-bars,
I urge my chosen instrument
Against the mere embodiment.
Though so oppressed I find I may
Through substance move. I pick my way,
Where death and life in one combine,
Through the dark earth that is not mine,
Crowded with fragments, blunt, unformed;
While past my ear where noises swarmed
The marsh plant's white extremities,
Slow without patience, spread at ease
Invulnerable and soft, extend
With a quiet grasping toward their end

Thom Gunn

Just seems like a fitting follow on to the Dragon and the ride home.

Dragon Rally 2011

Just a few words on this years, the 50th, Dragon Rally.

Was really a chance to try and beat some demons, a 50% success rate.

Small victories.

Ride up Friday with Dave and Al, taking the roads less travelled.

Friday night in Dolgellau with chums, in the rain. Saturday via Blaenau Ffestiniog for breakfast with a bold ice cream shop next door.

Onto the rather swamp like site from there. Spend the afternoon/evening wandering around snapping photos and meeting up with old acquaintances.

Have an anxiety attack and make the stupid decision to ride home at 2230, seemed the only way to deal with it. Tank just under half full on the Ten. No petrol stations open on the A470 overnight it seems and the weather is cold and wet. Empty third of a litre of petrol from my stove into the tank around Newbridge on Wye. Get home 47 miles into reserve at 2am, with, based on previous run-dry tests, 3 miles left in there. Now that's how to focus your anxiety.