Anyway, some photos.
Sea Holly (I think)
From in the dunes I then went onto the sand of the beach itself to try and make better progress.
I went the length of the beach and then paused for some jelly babies.
.
7 years ago
Saturday, June 29, 2013
A trip to the seaside!
Ice cream and chips followed but in order to earn them I had a couple of hours pedalling around the Oxwich area of Gower on the cyclocross bike. There was also some walking up hills shouldering the bike. Still need to get my hill running/walking improved!
Anyway, some photos.
Sea Holly (I think)
Notice the loose sand in the background. An absolute git to pedal through.
From in the dunes I then went onto the sand of the beach itself to try and make better progress.
The sweet spot seemed to be just in from the water, where the sand was damp and heavy but not too wet that you sank into it. It was still a chore to pedal on though.
I went the length of the beach and then paused for some jelly babies.
From there it was bike on shoulder and up the rocky climb from the beach to the roads.
Another rocky pedal climb made me wish for a 34 front ring instead of the 36 but we powered on through. Some roads after that and a little more off road before calling it a day.
Anyway, some photos.
Sea Holly (I think)
From in the dunes I then went onto the sand of the beach itself to try and make better progress.
I went the length of the beach and then paused for some jelly babies.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
We raced the sun...
And we won, though on a technicality.
The days are now getting shorter. Last night saw the end of the longer days and also the shortest of nights. It has been a while since I did something on the Solstice; I would try and do something to get me away from the humdrum of daily life not least because of the calendar proximity to Father's Day and my lack of one. Events conspired against me the last few years but this year I set the date aside to get away.
I had a plan inspired/influenced by the Howies Rest Less ride that began by catching the train from home near Pontypool over to Aberystwyth on the West coast with push bike and cycling back through the night. I put this to my good friend, Jay and things started to happen.
The planned route was a mixture of roads I had done from riding to the Dragon Rally, and roads I had cycled. It ended up being 100 miles and took in the Cambrian Mountains and Gospel Pass. Other than the route planning my mate Pete booked us the train tickets and cycle reservations and that was it sorted. It really did come together that easily.
Early on Friday morning I discovered that the train tickets were booked for 2 hours earlier than anticipated. Eep. Nevermind, it will all be ok.
Down to the station then to catch the earlier train. Due to no direct line to Aberystwyth we had to go up to Shrewsbury to then change trains to come back down and across to the West. So there we were, waiting
The packed train arrived and the conductor shook his head at us loading the bikes on.
But we've got reservations.
With a sigh he begins to move the people the cycle area and the suitcases into the racks where they should be. There's already one bike in the rack. Arriva only allow 2 bikes per train to be booked. We strap ours in and find seats for the first leg of the journey.
By the time we come to Shrewsbury there are 5 bikes in the cycle area. The conductor has abandoned all hope.
With a farewell to the table of passengers I joined, we change trains.
The next train is quieter and this time only 3 bikes end up in the cycle area; Arriva, you might want to look at allowing more?
I remember catching the scent of wood-fired barbeque coming in through the windows. Ah that would have been a nicely restful evening. After 10 minutes of dozing and an awful lot more watching of the countryside pass by we arrive in sunny Aberystwyth. Except it's got cloudy and rather chilly.
A quick meal of pretty shitty fish and chips from the Express chip shop and we clip in and roll out.
In my mind I had foreseen the first half of the ride as being a steady paced undulating scenic passing. There did end up being more climbing in there than I had anticipated. By some margin. By the time we were beginning to see the Cambrian Mountains we had already climbed 450 metres. The mountains looked slightly foreboding as the sky hung heavy.
The road was pleasant enough though and the scent of wild garlic was on the air as we rolled through shaded canopies of trees.
Soon down in Tregaron and turning off onto the mountain road towards Abergwesyn we remarked at how few cars we had seen. Onto the smallest road so far and within minutes we had two cars coming the other way.
This is where the climbing really began. Which would be logical really, given that we were heading into mountains, it just hadn't sunk in. First up was a 16% climb that was ok but feelable. The road rolled up and down with each roll becoming slightly fiercer. Like someone had pushed the land in from both sides. The descents were quicker though the surface sometimes made them a little unnerving.
The moon has come up and out now, peeking from behind the clouds. So far things are still dry.
On we roll and sooner than expected we come to Devil's Staircase. Someone has helpfully graffiti'd the road with 'Welcome to the Staircase :-) ' just in case we weren't sure what the 1:4 climb was. I didn't pause to take a photo, instead I banged a gear home and began to climb.
It was good to get to the top.
The night was starting to close in and the descent over the other side was quite interesting with the inner edges* of the corners being what felt like sheer drops between the straight sections of road. On the drops with an eyes peering forward into the pools of light in front we sped down. Brake, turn, brake, turn, dodge the gravel in the road, is that a hole or water?
Finally into Abergwesyn and a left towards Beulah.
6 more miles to go until we are closer to civilisation.
Those miles passed well, though we were still going far slower than we had anticipated. Would we still be pedalling towards home at this time tomorrow?
Then there was a glimmer of lamppost lights and the flat green of an A-road sign.
The roads had white lines on and we were back in the almost real world.
8 miles to Builth and rendezvous with a bowl of chili. The tiredness was creeping in as my body cried that it wanted to sleep. It wanted food and warmth and not to be here.
Then the rain that we had so successfully avoided began. We chainganged towards Builth Wells and swept through the empty streets to the waiting car.
Thanks to my girlfriend for meeting us with a thermos of chili and fresh supplies. I really needed the warmth.
The weather hadn't improved and revised plans were made. The Gospel Pass section would be dropped with a run back through the Black Mountains instead. We would be short of our overall distance of an imperial century but the little safety warning of self-preservation was kicking in about heading up over that high pass in the strong wind and rain. The disappointment was fighting back but losing.
We rolled out and on, there was so little traffic we were able to ride two abreast along the great Welsh trunk road of the A470. Villages passed by in silence and sometimes there would be a ghostly light pooling out from a bathroom or kitchen window.
Still the rain fell gently.
I felt hungry yet full of food. Tired yet wanting to go on. Sick and tender yet numb.
I knew the climbs that were coming as they appeared little by little in the far reaches of the headlights. Ticking them off all that was left was the long drag out of Talgarth.
As we turned from the A470 onto the A40 for that tiny section, the cats eyes ran out in front of us like an infinity of peering felines.
With a teenage laugh at the sign for Three Cocks we were soon headed left and up again as the road began the final kick.
It's not a steep climb, the one from Talgarth, but it is long. It never feels like it's over until you are a fair way down the other side nearing Pengenffordd. Cwmdu was passed, the cafe stop of many club rides lying dark and empty. Next Tretower was over with and I was entering the cave of endurance Vs. enjoyment.
In and out of Crickhowell and the mental countdown begins. That part where you know roughly how far and how long it will be until you are home. You don't have the protection of blissful ignorance any more and instead you try and blank out the wetness of the gloves, the pain from the strapped up shoulder and dislocated AC joint. I would tuck in behind Jay and lose all sense of balance in the pool of his blazing rear light.
Just keep it ticking over, son.
Past Nevill Hall Hospital where I've spent too much time recently and then a pause to relieve myself in some layby bushes.
Gobbling down some jelly babies and start pedalling again. Two late night or early morning revellers exclaim 'fucking hell' as we whirr past them up the road.
The A465 is empty bar one lorry heading the other direction as we push into the wet wind down onto the A4042. Car with hazards on as we come to Llanellen. They pull off and a little mystery remains.
Pedal pedal pedal.
A little incline out of Penperlleni then the road drops down to dual carriageway. Normally a good section to build a head of speed up but this time we are hit with wind as we crest the top.
3 miles to go.
We spin up the dual carriageway and with heads down push hard along the long fast section. Puddles of water soak through clothing and my feet feel very wet for the first time.
Up the hill into the village.
Up once more and then a coast to the door. I can't remember where I've put the doorkey.
Knock knock, let us in.
Bikes wheeled in, wet clothes removed.
Drink of milk then towel off and lie in bed.
The cats follow and settle to warm my feet.
My head is still whirring as my legs fizz and tingle.
Let me sleep now.
Stats. Distance 95 miles, climbing 6854ft, riding time 6hrs 15 minutes. Technically if we had the tickets for the original planned time of arriving in Aberystwyth at 2130 the sun would have beaten us but hey, yay for technicalities.
* I wanted to add, that on one of the descents I felt something move out of my back jersey pockets and come sliding up my back and over my shoulder before landing on the ground. At the point where it was about halfway up my back I realised that it was the camera. At that point also I was on the drops and controlling my descent along the steep gritty road so could do precisely bugger all about it. I have to say, massive thanks to Canon for designing and making good quality metal bodied compacts. The second time this one has had a road interface and it's still going strong.
The days are now getting shorter. Last night saw the end of the longer days and also the shortest of nights. It has been a while since I did something on the Solstice; I would try and do something to get me away from the humdrum of daily life not least because of the calendar proximity to Father's Day and my lack of one. Events conspired against me the last few years but this year I set the date aside to get away.
I had a plan inspired/influenced by the Howies Rest Less ride that began by catching the train from home near Pontypool over to Aberystwyth on the West coast with push bike and cycling back through the night. I put this to my good friend, Jay and things started to happen.
The planned route was a mixture of roads I had done from riding to the Dragon Rally, and roads I had cycled. It ended up being 100 miles and took in the Cambrian Mountains and Gospel Pass. Other than the route planning my mate Pete booked us the train tickets and cycle reservations and that was it sorted. It really did come together that easily.
Early on Friday morning I discovered that the train tickets were booked for 2 hours earlier than anticipated. Eep. Nevermind, it will all be ok.
Down to the station then to catch the earlier train. Due to no direct line to Aberystwyth we had to go up to Shrewsbury to then change trains to come back down and across to the West. So there we were, waiting
But we've got reservations.
With a sigh he begins to move the people the cycle area and the suitcases into the racks where they should be. There's already one bike in the rack. Arriva only allow 2 bikes per train to be booked. We strap ours in and find seats for the first leg of the journey.
By the time we come to Shrewsbury there are 5 bikes in the cycle area. The conductor has abandoned all hope.
With a farewell to the table of passengers I joined, we change trains.
The next train is quieter and this time only 3 bikes end up in the cycle area; Arriva, you might want to look at allowing more?
I remember catching the scent of wood-fired barbeque coming in through the windows. Ah that would have been a nicely restful evening. After 10 minutes of dozing and an awful lot more watching of the countryside pass by we arrive in sunny Aberystwyth. Except it's got cloudy and rather chilly.
A quick meal of pretty shitty fish and chips from the Express chip shop and we clip in and roll out.
The road was pleasant enough though and the scent of wild garlic was on the air as we rolled through shaded canopies of trees.
Soon down in Tregaron and turning off onto the mountain road towards Abergwesyn we remarked at how few cars we had seen. Onto the smallest road so far and within minutes we had two cars coming the other way.
This is where the climbing really began. Which would be logical really, given that we were heading into mountains, it just hadn't sunk in. First up was a 16% climb that was ok but feelable. The road rolled up and down with each roll becoming slightly fiercer. Like someone had pushed the land in from both sides. The descents were quicker though the surface sometimes made them a little unnerving.
The moon has come up and out now, peeking from behind the clouds. So far things are still dry.
It was good to get to the top.
Finally into Abergwesyn and a left towards Beulah.
6 more miles to go until we are closer to civilisation.
Those miles passed well, though we were still going far slower than we had anticipated. Would we still be pedalling towards home at this time tomorrow?
Then there was a glimmer of lamppost lights and the flat green of an A-road sign.
8 miles to Builth and rendezvous with a bowl of chili. The tiredness was creeping in as my body cried that it wanted to sleep. It wanted food and warmth and not to be here.
Then the rain that we had so successfully avoided began. We chainganged towards Builth Wells and swept through the empty streets to the waiting car.
We rolled out and on, there was so little traffic we were able to ride two abreast along the great Welsh trunk road of the A470. Villages passed by in silence and sometimes there would be a ghostly light pooling out from a bathroom or kitchen window.
Still the rain fell gently.
I felt hungry yet full of food. Tired yet wanting to go on. Sick and tender yet numb.
I knew the climbs that were coming as they appeared little by little in the far reaches of the headlights. Ticking them off all that was left was the long drag out of Talgarth.
As we turned from the A470 onto the A40 for that tiny section, the cats eyes ran out in front of us like an infinity of peering felines.
With a teenage laugh at the sign for Three Cocks we were soon headed left and up again as the road began the final kick.
It's not a steep climb, the one from Talgarth, but it is long. It never feels like it's over until you are a fair way down the other side nearing Pengenffordd. Cwmdu was passed, the cafe stop of many club rides lying dark and empty. Next Tretower was over with and I was entering the cave of endurance Vs. enjoyment.
In and out of Crickhowell and the mental countdown begins. That part where you know roughly how far and how long it will be until you are home. You don't have the protection of blissful ignorance any more and instead you try and blank out the wetness of the gloves, the pain from the strapped up shoulder and dislocated AC joint. I would tuck in behind Jay and lose all sense of balance in the pool of his blazing rear light.
Just keep it ticking over, son.
Past Nevill Hall Hospital where I've spent too much time recently and then a pause to relieve myself in some layby bushes.
Gobbling down some jelly babies and start pedalling again. Two late night or early morning revellers exclaim 'fucking hell' as we whirr past them up the road.
The A465 is empty bar one lorry heading the other direction as we push into the wet wind down onto the A4042. Car with hazards on as we come to Llanellen. They pull off and a little mystery remains.
Pedal pedal pedal.
A little incline out of Penperlleni then the road drops down to dual carriageway. Normally a good section to build a head of speed up but this time we are hit with wind as we crest the top.
3 miles to go.
We spin up the dual carriageway and with heads down push hard along the long fast section. Puddles of water soak through clothing and my feet feel very wet for the first time.
Up the hill into the village.
Up once more and then a coast to the door. I can't remember where I've put the doorkey.
Knock knock, let us in.
Bikes wheeled in, wet clothes removed.
Drink of milk then towel off and lie in bed.
The cats follow and settle to warm my feet.
My head is still whirring as my legs fizz and tingle.
Let me sleep now.
Stats. Distance 95 miles, climbing 6854ft, riding time 6hrs 15 minutes. Technically if we had the tickets for the original planned time of arriving in Aberystwyth at 2130 the sun would have beaten us but hey, yay for technicalities.
* I wanted to add, that on one of the descents I felt something move out of my back jersey pockets and come sliding up my back and over my shoulder before landing on the ground. At the point where it was about halfway up my back I realised that it was the camera. At that point also I was on the drops and controlling my descent along the steep gritty road so could do precisely bugger all about it. I have to say, massive thanks to Canon for designing and making good quality metal bodied compacts. The second time this one has had a road interface and it's still going strong.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Black and blue (and white)
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Windmills and Wild Garlic
It was a ride that was far more enjoyable than it had any right to be.
Riding the freshly built cyclocross bike on the roads, in rain and wind for a short 18 mile pedal. Somehow though the wind wasn't as bad as yesterday and the rain, whilst cold and penetrating was just part of the ambience. Even the draggy tyres just cushioned the road rather than intruding and feeling like a hindrance.
Out from Usk to meet with my mate Pete and his brother Tom, the scent of the wild garlic was strong in the wet air.
Llancayo windmill is a good landmark
and it as just past there that our paths coincided.
Back into Usk to make a nod to drying out in the rather pleasant Number Forty Nine cafe.
Home after that and perversely enjoying the feeling of tingling skin from the cold and rain. Short sleeves and arm warmers weren't the ideal attire and how is it that with waterproof boots all that happens is they keep the water in?
Riding the freshly built cyclocross bike on the roads, in rain and wind for a short 18 mile pedal. Somehow though the wind wasn't as bad as yesterday and the rain, whilst cold and penetrating was just part of the ambience. Even the draggy tyres just cushioned the road rather than intruding and feeling like a hindrance.
Out from Usk to meet with my mate Pete and his brother Tom, the scent of the wild garlic was strong in the wet air.
Llancayo windmill is a good landmark
Back into Usk to make a nod to drying out in the rather pleasant Number Forty Nine cafe.
Home after that and perversely enjoying the feeling of tingling skin from the cold and rain. Short sleeves and arm warmers weren't the ideal attire and how is it that with waterproof boots all that happens is they keep the water in?
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Mallorca
A week after the finger bashing I was out in Mallorca. I had taken the pushiron with me with a view to getting some miles in whilst my girlfriend took part in a long distance swimming training camp in preparation for her Channel Relay swim later this year.
Packing myself off with bottles full, a map of the island and a rough route in my head I was away.
First impressions were that it was rather warm, around 23'C and that the roads were quite smooth and nicely undulating.
Traffic was minimal, well it was a Sunday, and I was really rather looking forward to the day.
When consulting the map previously I had spotted what looked like a good climb from where we were on the South of the island. Every now and then it would peek out from around a bend or past the trees.
The sanctuary of Sant Salvador lay at the top.
Down to Felanitx and then hang a right up the climb. 4.5km of 7% gradient climb. Not huge, not tiny but you know about it.
I passed a couple of people heading up and enquired about coffee at the top but was met with blank stares.
Steady spinning does it and finally there was the top, or rather the sign proclaiming the altitude.
There is a café and it's around to the right a bit further up the hill!
After a slice of chocolate torte and an espresso I had a mooch around the chapel. Interestingly there were several genuine World Champion jerseys on display, donated by Guillem Timoner, a local cyclist.
I sauntered outside and took in the view, chatting to a Dutch cyclist.
Then took the obligatory photo of the bike in the view-
before setting off back down the hill.
The eagle eyed of you will have noticed the bike is wearing the clincher wheels not the usual tubular carbon wheels. This was a thought on my part of 1) preventing the carbon wheels getting damaged in transit and 2) if I had a puncture it was easy to fix.
Hmm.
About a third of the way down, and tipping into a right hand bend I heard a sound and thought; 'my brakes are making a fu..' before I had time to think it was the brakes making the funny noise the front wheel had tucked under and I was hitting the tarmac and rolling.
Coming to a stop I did that self check where you see what hurts, can you move hands and feet and what does the bike look like.
Well I could see my kneecaps and parts of my palm I didn't want to and my left shoulder hurt. A lot. Right, I won't be looking at that then.
Bend the bike straight, tweak the bits that can be tweaked and swap the burst front tube over for a fresh one. There was no debris inside the tyre so I have no idea why it burst. Strangely the valve core was bent and the cap missing. Who knows. I do know that no fucker stopped to enquire as to how I was or ask if I needed help and plenty passed.
Back on and down the hill, passing a slow car and a couple of slower cyclist and motorcyclists. I love that shock and adrenaline cocktail.
I headed to Felanitx, the nearest town and stopped in the supermarket with a plan to buy some paracetamol for when the aforementioned cocktail wore off, and some food. In a daze I came out with no paracetamol as the supermarkets don't sell it, some sterile alcohol for my cuts, two apples and a twix.
I bit the first apple and poured alcohol on my cuts.
Then I ate the twix and headed back the way I'd come.
After about ten miles the rear derailleur snagged in the rear wheel. The hanger had been bent in the crash and it was only a matter of time before it went wrong.
At that point I did feel like crying.
Thankfully I maintained the stiff upper lip as two German cyclists actually asked if I was ok. They informed me there was a town a bit further on with a bar.
I walked there pushing/dragging the bike and asked the barmaid if she could phone me a cab back to the hotel as the bike was immobile. That done I asked for a beer.
No beer on sundays.
Bugger.
Long story short after two taxi rides to medical centres and hospitals I have a grade 2 AC joint dislocation and a natty sling.
My kit survived pretty well with not too many scrapes, and the bloodstains washed out ok.
My right hand had a good scuffing, though my left with my injured finger was unmarked.
and my knees were well on their way to scabbing up nicely.
Those photos were taken three days after.
So not the holiday I'd expected, but I'd go back though hiring a bike this time.
Today, three weeks after, is the first time I've been on a bike and it felt good.
Packing myself off with bottles full, a map of the island and a rough route in my head I was away.
First impressions were that it was rather warm, around 23'C and that the roads were quite smooth and nicely undulating.
When consulting the map previously I had spotted what looked like a good climb from where we were on the South of the island. Every now and then it would peek out from around a bend or past the trees.
The sanctuary of Sant Salvador lay at the top.
Down to Felanitx and then hang a right up the climb. 4.5km of 7% gradient climb. Not huge, not tiny but you know about it.
I passed a couple of people heading up and enquired about coffee at the top but was met with blank stares.
Steady spinning does it and finally there was the top, or rather the sign proclaiming the altitude.
After a slice of chocolate torte and an espresso I had a mooch around the chapel. Interestingly there were several genuine World Champion jerseys on display, donated by Guillem Timoner, a local cyclist.
The eagle eyed of you will have noticed the bike is wearing the clincher wheels not the usual tubular carbon wheels. This was a thought on my part of 1) preventing the carbon wheels getting damaged in transit and 2) if I had a puncture it was easy to fix.
Hmm.
About a third of the way down, and tipping into a right hand bend I heard a sound and thought; 'my brakes are making a fu..' before I had time to think it was the brakes making the funny noise the front wheel had tucked under and I was hitting the tarmac and rolling.
Coming to a stop I did that self check where you see what hurts, can you move hands and feet and what does the bike look like.
Well I could see my kneecaps and parts of my palm I didn't want to and my left shoulder hurt. A lot. Right, I won't be looking at that then.
Bend the bike straight, tweak the bits that can be tweaked and swap the burst front tube over for a fresh one. There was no debris inside the tyre so I have no idea why it burst. Strangely the valve core was bent and the cap missing. Who knows. I do know that no fucker stopped to enquire as to how I was or ask if I needed help and plenty passed.
Back on and down the hill, passing a slow car and a couple of slower cyclist and motorcyclists. I love that shock and adrenaline cocktail.
I headed to Felanitx, the nearest town and stopped in the supermarket with a plan to buy some paracetamol for when the aforementioned cocktail wore off, and some food. In a daze I came out with no paracetamol as the supermarkets don't sell it, some sterile alcohol for my cuts, two apples and a twix.
I bit the first apple and poured alcohol on my cuts.
Then I ate the twix and headed back the way I'd come.
After about ten miles the rear derailleur snagged in the rear wheel. The hanger had been bent in the crash and it was only a matter of time before it went wrong.
At that point I did feel like crying.
Thankfully I maintained the stiff upper lip as two German cyclists actually asked if I was ok. They informed me there was a town a bit further on with a bar.
I walked there pushing/dragging the bike and asked the barmaid if she could phone me a cab back to the hotel as the bike was immobile. That done I asked for a beer.
No beer on sundays.
Bugger.
Long story short after two taxi rides to medical centres and hospitals I have a grade 2 AC joint dislocation and a natty sling.
My kit survived pretty well with not too many scrapes, and the bloodstains washed out ok.
So not the holiday I'd expected, but I'd go back though hiring a bike this time.
Today, three weeks after, is the first time I've been on a bike and it felt good.
Breaking the silence
I realise it's been quite a while since I updated. Mostly that has been due to injury and a little due to being internet free whilst building work took place. This is being written perched on a stool with my back to a bare plaster wall and a shell of two rooms into one in front of me.
Well it's been a busy time and some of the pictures following you may want to skip.
First off I managed to make a mess of my finger whilst working on the little van o'spaz. The caliper bolt came loose quicker than expected which resulted in my ring finger being trapped between the ratchet and the lower wishbone of the car with some force.
Enough force to break the finger, remove the nail and slice the tip of my finger from left to right through the nail bed.
Yes it hurt. You can see where the nail is trying to hold on at the tip there.
The hospital kindly cut the nail off, cleaned it and then sewed it back over the now sewn back up and attached bit of finger.
Ta da!
Yes it hurt, and still does though with at strange feeling that comes from nerve damage; the pain is inside my finger but I can't feel the rest.
Onwards then...
Well it's been a busy time and some of the pictures following you may want to skip.
First off I managed to make a mess of my finger whilst working on the little van o'spaz. The caliper bolt came loose quicker than expected which resulted in my ring finger being trapped between the ratchet and the lower wishbone of the car with some force.
Enough force to break the finger, remove the nail and slice the tip of my finger from left to right through the nail bed.
The hospital kindly cut the nail off, cleaned it and then sewed it back over the now sewn back up and attached bit of finger.
Ta da!
Onwards then...
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
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.
After a pleasant stroll along the beach last night in the clear blue skies
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.
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.
Back around then and head back down the way I'd come up.
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 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.
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