Tyres, Gravel, Gnarmac, Grinduro, Grrrrrrr

The rise and rise of the 'adventure/gravel/bikepacking bike' has been well observed and truth is for a lot of the riding that takes place casually it's probably a great choice of bike style. I jumped on the bandwagon with the purchase of a deeply uncool Raleigh Maverick Comp last year as it ticked all the boxes for me, and was on sale, and I got discount thanks to British Cycling. Being a tinkerer I couldn't leave it be and so of the original bike, all that's left is the Reynolds 631 frame and cromoly forks, shifters, cables, front and rear derailleurs and cassette, and brake calipers. Oh and the bar tape although that has begun to delaminate so I'll likely change that soon too.
To the real point of this post though. Tyres. I love tyres. I mean I really love them. I have around 15-20 pairs in the shed at least, loose or mounted. Tyres for all wheel sizes I own and all bikes, and some I no longer own. I try not to think about how much money is tied up in them. With the growth of the market mentioned in the opening line, there has been a revival/corresponding growth in the tyre market to suit.
On of the main reasons I plumped for the Raleigh was the very good tyre clearances on the frame and forks. Why is this important? Well bigger tyres means higher volumes means more grip and more comfort. All good things.
My first foray into the larger tyres was with a second hand pair of Compass Barlow Pass in 700x38c size. Skin/gum/tan wall of course.

Here they are on the stock Raleigh wheels during a christmas day ride. Great tyres, very supple and grippy but a bit fragile off the road and on the chippings and loose seal that makes up some of the towpaths, sorry gravel, around here. I had a new set of wheels built by the excellent Ryan Builds Wheels over the water in Bristol around an SP dynamo front hub, and a Hope Pro4 rear hub with DT Swiss XM421 tubeless rims and the Barlow Pass wouldn't stay up happily tubeless. As a note, they're not supposed to be, but sometimes tyres will work.

With some trips coming up I was searching for some tyres with more grip for off road, and that would work tubeless. I had narrowed it down to the Bruce Gordon Rock n Road 700x43c, the Soma Cazadero 700x42c and the Panaracer Gravelking SK (small knob, teehee) 700x40c. All built on/by Panaracer in Japan. Being precious and vain I wanted tan/skin/gum walls which meant pre-ordering the Gravelking SK's from Winstanley's Bikes who were very helpful, and ordering a pair of the Rock n Roads from Bruce Gordon himself, shipped to my friends in Canada who we were visiting a few weeks later in early March. This being mid-February and me being the sort of person who can't get an idea out of their head unless it's acted upon. My trip was in April...

Long story short, the Rock n Roads were/are excellent off road on the dry and loose surfaces I rode and slightly draggy but not terrible on road. Which you would have guessed from the tread pattern.
On the 25mm wide rims, they came up slightly oversize

They cleared the frame just fine, and were a lot of fun in use.

I didn't weigh them, but stated weight was 560g each. I would guess they would be around that. They went up and stayed up tubeless and worked well at around 40psi with camping gear laden up.
The Gravelking SKs arrived last Friday and as I wasn't going to be doing some KGnarr-shredding I swapped them over from the RnRs. They have a coloured wall over a black carcass, as opposed to the RnRs and Barlow Pass's which are black over a tan carcass. Just an observation. The other observation was that the carcass felt markedly stiffer than the other two tyres. Maybe twice as stiff as the Barlow Pass's.

Straight up tubeless and a little oversize, again on the 25mm wide rims so to be expected.
Riding on them on- and off-road they really do roll very well and there was even a lot of grip in the dry. I ran 50psi to begin with as I was expecting a little air loss from the first tubeless inflation. I think they could be dropped to 40/45psi with no problems. I really am rather happy with them. Weight was 490g, and they came up at 498g. Strangely they felt heavier in my hands than the RnRs.
I am waiting on delivery of a pair of the Snoqualmie Pass 700x44c tyres again from Compass for winter road use, this post will be updated.

Hurrah! Bikepacking! Actually doing a thing!

I'm a dreamer, a romantic and I love to make plans and jot ideas down. Very rarely those ideas come to fruition, or those plans are realised, but sometimes they do.
A spurious text sent to my friend Dave asking if he fancied some cyclocross bikepacking to a bothy was met with the response; Hmm...interesting...
Not long after there was confirmation of a couple of available dates; a friday off work was booked and that was the beginning.
The nearest bothy to me is in the Black Mountains, up at the end of Grwyne Fawr reservoir and after poring over an OS map of the area I began to put a route together that would take the two of us from home, to the bothy for an overnight stay, and then back home the next day, avoiding main roads, or indeed roads at all where possible.
Neither of us had used a bothy before and although I'd done a bit of touring previously that had either been supported or solo but always on road. There was no way of booking obviously so it was felt best to plan for a worse case scenario; that the bothy was occupied, and to take kit to ensure we would be dry and warm should we end up under canvas (or lightweight si-nylon.).
I was keen to take food and a stove, so Dave offered to carry the tipi outer and pole and we both had bivi bags to go over the sleeping bags. After a couple of practice packs and a shakedown run I was pretty pleased with my set up, even though I lost a rear light on the shakedown run.
Friday arrived, and later in the afternoon so did Dave ad we began to assemble the bikes and gear. Dave has known me for some time and I can get a little hangry so I noted with pleasure he was packing enough cereal bars to keep a school field trip fed.

Away then.

First stop was towards Abergavenny to timecheck and contemplate whether to stop for tea at a pub.

We take the lanes and soon come to the Crown at Pantygelli. Sadly food isn't served until 7pm which may make us rather later than hoped getting to the bothy. Still, always time for a pint...

 The other bit of good news was that we were still on the right track. Heading from the pub we came to a crossroads and were somewhat surprised to find a sign pointing us towards the ACTUAL place we wanted to be. This threw us as we should have taken a smaller lane off to the left instead of following the sign.

 The reason being the route had been planned to take in bridleways and forest tracks and the signed route along a singletrack road skirted the edge of the woods and followed the river, which was nice but not planned. At the end of the road was this sign.

 You will notice it is dark. Time had passed and we both agreed that despite there being a couple of opportunities to head off into the woods to ride a bit of bridleway we wouldn't gain anything by doing so. The road was quiet and other than bats we saw a courting couple in a car and a resident in the hour we were on it.
I don't have any pictures for the next hour suffice to say it was interesting and I believe the route at times could best be described as cheeky. We managed to find a way across the river, and then following what appeared to be the marked track we found ourselves steadily coming down to the shore of the reservoir. Not ideal but it would deliver us to the bothy, we placated ourselves with. The grassy track got slimmer and soon we were pushing the bikes along the rocky shore with very little room to be. Eventually that too ran out and we scrambled up the steep valley side through the bracken and found a stock fence. Seemingly we had chosen the wrong side from the outset. Over the fence and along a larger track until we came to where the bothy should be. Our lamps picked it out to the left and down the valley. The other side of the fence. Huh.
Another fence hop and a downhill scramble trying to avoid stumbling down holes and rocks. Then, finally we were at the bothy. One of the positive aspects of not being able to see it from the track, meant that it was unoccupied. In we went, and candles lit.

 I then got the stove lit and tea cooking, whilst getting a fire going in the woodburner. Dave set up sleeping quarters in the roof space above. One all sorted we settled down to a candlelit supper of curry and rice by the fire. With rum.
Halfway through the rum there was a sound not unlike that of someone sharpening a knife near the door. Dave and I looked at each other and there was a moment when each of us had the thought above. Dave shone his light around and staring back was a mouse. In our defence the mouse was stood next to the axe and on the shovel and the scraping had been it's feet on the metal.
The mouse gave no heed to us and carried on it's mousey business. More later.
With time passing it was time to hit the sack. Up the ladder and into the sleeping bags.

 Around mid-morning; 3am, there was the sound of rattling down stairs so down I went. There was the mouse staring back at me and quite happily munching on some bourbon biscuits. The mouse cleared off and I tidied up.

 Next morning we awoke a few hours later than planned and while Dave packed I got the washing up done from the night before and then got a brew on for us to enjoy with our flapjack breakfast.

 Once all done, the bothy was cleaned and the bikes were laden. After another scramble up the sides we hit the trail again, somewhat easier to spot in the daylight. A beautiful day it was too.

 View from the bothy door.

 There was a fair breeze blowing in but thankfully it was dry. We picked our way along the top with a mix of walking and riding as the rocky surface and our narrow tyres were not a happy mix.

 After what seemed like rather a long time (6.2mph average) we reached the end of the flat section and the descent of Y Das to come off the top. This may have been rideable on the mountain bike at home in the shed, but wasn't so great on the cyclocross bikes laden with luggage.

 Soon enough the track levelled out and became a gentler descent as promised by the widening contour lines on the map. Back on the bikes and down we went. Pausing and dismounting for the odd section with drainage blocks in.

The final roll out was a hummocky grass section. Wheeeeeee....

Joining a tiny road again we picked up the pace and kept rolling along nicely. We came to the junction where straight ahead was onto a bridleway and chatted a while with a checkpoint crew of a fell race, they kindly gave us a bottle of water each and then we were away onto the almost-hard clay surface of the bridleway.

This traced around the bottom of Pen Twyn Glas and dropped us back onto another tertiary road. Deciding to take a final bridleway before Cwmdu we encountered lots of tiny rocks, nettles and brambles, along with the odd fallen tree. Such a shame the NERC act came into place and these routes aren't kept clear through use.

Back on the main roads again and they felt somewhat alien as we headed into Crickhowell for a cooked breakfast at the fine Courtroom Cafe. We made the time cut off by a minute. How's that for timing.

From Crickhowell it was a few more roads and then onto the canal towpath at Govilon to have a flat and quiet run back home. Total mileage for the two days was 63.7miles and 4,780ft of climbing.
Kit:

Planet X XLS cyclocross bike, my race bike. 1x10 gearing with 34T chainring and 11-32 cassette.
Challenge Baby Limus open tubs, latex tubes. Four4th Genesis lamp.
Alpkit Koala seat pack containing Snugpak Softie Elite sleeping bag, Khyam bivi bag and gas canister.
Apidura small bar pack containing Exped synmat, trek mates titanium cookset.
Acre Hauser 14l backpack containing everything else-

The pillow didn't make the cut. Yes I did use the trowel. Responsibly. Also had 2.5 litres of water in the pack.
I wore my faithful Rapha brevet jersey, merino armwarmers for Friday evening and Saturday morning, Morvelo stormshield 3/4 knickers, bolle safety specs and some DMT Lynx SPD shoes.
Fantastic fun.

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.

Roughstuff Reconnaissance

I've got an itch to organise a decent old-fashioned Roughstuff Ride with the club. I've been slowly piecing together little sections I know of and poring over OS maps to find other bits. Today was a chance to find out how parts of it might join up, and what a glorious day it was.
I don't believe there's such a thing as lost when you've got a map with you, you are momentarily misplaced shall we say. I had the advantage of a decent visible landmark in the form of the Sugarloaf to aim for which was useful as I got a little misplaced by the NCN 42 signs.-

My bike for the day was my usual road bike, still on open tubs and running 39/53 chainrings. I did come to regret not changing to the compact.
From that point on there was some more dithering, sorry, ascertaining direction and after a rude fat lady in her Rover tried to force me off the pavement where I was mapchecking I as away again thinking I'd head off course a little to get a swift half only to find that the pub was shut. Gutted. Oh well, onwards.

The road became a section I knew from motorbike travels and so I was expecting a climb. Even though you know it's coming, it's still a bit of a wrench. This one is worth it though as it puts you at the start of a short off-road descent leading to a ford.
The beginning-

Those rocks are big enough to trouble a road bike so after avoiding going over the bars I walked a short section before hopping back on for the smooth run down to the ford-

and across the ford I went rather than trying to stop on the greasy concrete bed-

Lovely. From there it was just a 20 mile ride home.
Granted it's not going to be a proper roughstuff ride as there will be large sections of road joining it all together, but it will be the road less travelled.

Mini Milestones

The mighty Princess Sugar Sprinkles ticked over 38,000 miles in my care yesterday.
That's the same distance as Rick Mereki travelled in 44 days,
The same distance as this lovely Datsun 240z has covered in it's life so far, and about 1 and a half times around the Earth.
Thanks my lovely.

The old broom...

With injuries putting paid to plans of buying a Time Trial (TT) specific frame for the upcoming season, I had a think about how best to approach things. After some quizzical moments (and a limited stable) it came to me; surely the most suitable bike was the cyclocross bike. It ticks the majority of boxes in that it's stiff, light, has a short top tube. Granted it's not the most aerodynamic of frames but hey, my body position will be doing more against that than the frame, see a study here.
So, to the exciting bit, the picture.

There's still some work to be done with saddle position and possibly stem length but I'm excited. Last years results will be hard to top for improvement as I took my PB down by 4 minutes, but it was all on a road bike with no aero at all.

Round 8 Welsh CX, Pembrey

A new course for me, and after a couple of hours driving we finally made it there. I'm convinced there is a quicker way, but we followed the signs anyway.
Pembrey holds fond memories for me as I used to holiday there as a child. That must be over two decades ago though. Oof.
A couple of pictures, and if it works, a video...

 I had a cracking back and forth with the chap from Gower Riders in the burghundy, white and blue for most of the race.

Heading along the crest.

Video of the same, though probably a lap later.
Thanks to the organisers, West Wales Cycle Racing

Eulogy

We didn't have long together but it was time and money well spent.
3 months and three thousand miles.
From docile trips to get the shopping to howling through the dusk along the Wye valley you were always fun.
The joy at travelling through tunnels on the A55 knowing that we would be passing back through in a few hours time.
The shove from four thousand revolutions per minute.
Knowing that you cost less than a hatchback but were anything but mundane.
Saving me from serious injury.
You were my first and I don't know if any others will live up to your high standard.
So long.

Popping the cherry

There's a hill near me known in cycling circles as The Tumble, and to everyone else as the Blorenge. It's not a massive hill but its no slouch either.
I've been putting off climbing it for a while, too long really. It had been on the back of my mind since Thom over at Mamnick lay down the Mamnick Challenge. What with work, 'cross training and cross races coming through it just didn't look like I'd have the time to get my challenge ride in.
But then serendipity came smiling and with a low turnout on the Sunday club the opportunity presented itself. To deal with the Blorenge first though is to not tell the full story.
The route had been penned mentally for a while as said and with the forecast turning out favourable today was the day. First on the list was out to Crickhowell and then hang a left up to Mynydd Llangattwg. This would be my third time up there and as a climb it's good. Right up until the last kick to the junction. I had company in Paul and Adrian from the club and we celebrated with Jelly Babies (are you listening Mr Brailsford?) at the summit. After soaking up the fantastic scenery it was time to move on. Hanging a right there we cruised back down to Llangynidr, over the beautiful old bridge then on the nose pelt down to Crickhowell and some hearty brownie and coffee in the Number 18 café there.
Onward again with sustenance in our bellies and as we came back through the lanes we had managed to dodge the promised showers.
There was that tingle then of possibility.
'Fancy a run up there, then?' Paul said.
We had come into view of the Blorenge and I laughed in response.
Then,
'Yeah fuck it why not'.
As the junction approached I bade my club companions farewell and turning right began to go up The Tumble.
There's a cheeky humpback bridge over the canal, then onwards still further and as a 3 series comes tearing past ready to steam up the hill, the hairpin presents itself.
The 3 series brakes hard with downshifts barking as it swings hard right and with a short squeal of complaint from the tyres it tucks in and hurtles upwards.
Meanwhile I carry on spinning and plodding. Glasses tucked on my cap covered head, bill still positively flipped up and jersey only a smidge open.
Some climbs show themselves from the off, some hide little surprises, others like this one show you sections at a time. Mentally broken down to start-finishes.
Spin spin spin.
Other riders notes and recollections come to mind; Adrian's tactic of dismounting at the cattle grid in the damp, Paul's hatred of false flats. Pete's general dislike of the place in general. Which is surprising seeing as he's actually a reasonable climber.
Up and up we go.
The crags to the left pass and the view to the right grows.
I find the climb in three stages, and with markers on the road ticking off I'm well into the third and final one. In what seems like no time Keepers Pond is passing by on my left and I can see the Lamb and Flag pub over on the tip to the right.
There we are then, at the summit. No bloody ice cream van today though which is a shame.
I tuck into my last 4 jelly babies and snap a few photos.
The old trusty steed;

Sugarloaf and Abergavenny in the distance with the rain cloud we dodged;

and over to Bristol and England;

With the wind beginning to whistle and my tummy starting to grumble it's time to tuck in and whisk downhill back home.
Stats then; 50 miles, a smidge over 4,500ft climbing. 2 decent hills and a personal challenge ticked off.

First blood

First cyclocross race of the season for me on Saturday. The interesting site of Blists Hill Victorian Village up in Ironbridge. Organised by Nick Jeggo of Newport CC it was a cracking course with a mix of everything and some bloody horrid steps.
Earlier in the day I had competed in and won the club hillclimb, so perhaps a 'cross race wasn't the best evening pasttime. Still I couldn't turn up a chance to ride somewhere like that. A reasonable start and the 3 or 4 laps in the days earlier efforts began to show with a nagging groin cramp that bit into my lower back. I had to pull in and stretch for a minute or two and lost a good few places. Not that I was ever in the running to take a victory, but I wasn't going badly!
After the pain had eased and I could bend my leg again I was off and really enjoyed the different aspects of the course.

Oh and the first blood bit? Well on an overtake on two riders down some steps going through an alley, the middle rider I was passing moved over into me and I got squished into either a Victorian bakery or a candlestick makers! Cue a rather battered pair of knuckles and little finger! Massive thanks to my friends Alex and Claire who came along to watch, cheer and then let us sleep on their floor, and to Michelle for being a great pit crew with my spare wheels and drink. Thankfully I didn't need my spares although a lot of people did puncture.
Good times for the first race.

Black and blue (and white)

Following on from the tales of whoops from Mallorca I was looking for moody shots for the end of my first stab at Black and White film photography in fifteen years. My scuffed and now decidedly used Burls seemed to be a good choice. Oh and the author too...

Llandudno and the Ormes

Work brought me to the North of Wales so I brought a bike.
After a pleasant stroll along the beach last night in the clear blue skies

 it was a shock to wake this morning to a rather wetter and windier day.
Being positive about it, by the time I had got back after work to my guesthouse the rain had kept itself to further inland and the wind didn't seem too bad. On with the lycra then, and making the most of the warmth it was short sleeves for the jersey. You are spared the pictures.
The plan was for a short ride to blow the cobwebs and the buffet lunch away.
Out to the Great Orme, up to the summit then back down and around before shower and tea.
Riding along the East shore the conditions were pleasant enough and I had nowt but diving and soaring crows for company.

It even felt rather warm indeed, despite the rain in the distance. Pressing on I took the left turn for the summit and dropped onto the granny halfway up as rounding a bend the wind made itself known. Bit fresh I thought as I passed St. Tudno's church.

If there's a better view to be buried with then I've not seen it yet. By the time I came to the tram crossing it was all I could do to keep upright.

Would be a lovely shot if it weren't for the tipper. Onwards to the summit then.
The wind was really fierce now and I did wonder if I were going to get dashed onto the road. It comes to something when you put your gloves back on despite the warmth in case you come a cropper. Finally there I was, looking out over the West shore and onto the hills beyond.

Trust me it was really, really windy.
Back around then and head back down the way I'd come up.

A lovely little bit of road.
Carrying on and it wasn't until I rounded the prominence that the wind was back with a BLAM!
The sort of wind that hits you hard from one side blowing you left, then bounces back off the rock face to your left and blows you right. 'It's easier if you go faster' I kept telling myself as I rode close the rocks on the left. Far better to be blown into them than over the low wall on the right and into the sea. If you think I was exaggerating then as I came down this descent at 30mph

the wind would hit and knock my speed down to 20mph. It was like having the brakes put firmly on by an unseen co-pilot.
The white horses were in full canter on the sea and once back to the guesthouse I had a look at the windspeeds; 28-37mph. That'll be why it felt pretty bracing then.
A good 10 mile loop.