Ride Journal – Entry 1 – Wet, Windy and Starving

I’ve decided to review some of my rides in a weekly segment called Ride Journal. In the first addition I write about a ride that was only supposed to be a quick 6 mile commute 

I was only supposed to be riding the short commute back home when I was asked by a colleague if I fancied going out for a decent ride after work. I had my kit in my locker and normally it would be a great idea, although on this particular day I hadn’t actually eaten anything. It was approaching 2:30pm, I could possibly get away within an hour, however my stomach was already groaning at the lack of any breakfast or lunch. In fact only half a bakewell flapjack from the company canteen had passed my lips that whole day.

“When you say decent ride… how decent?”

Café Ventoux and back?” my colleague replied.

The ‘Cafe Ventoux Loop’ is one of my regular rides so I’m well aware that it is 25 miles out from my house, plus the six miles extra from work.

“Scratch that, it closes at 5pm on Fridays, we could just go out that way though and find a coffee shop”.

Some ummin’ and arrin’ later and I agreed to join him, but only if the Coffee Shop we found sold slabs of cake, so I could at least run on some form of fuel. One hour later I was on my bike. The first 10 minutes of the ride consisted of me making excuses for my almost inevitable bonk. We were flying though, aided by an absolutely glorious tail wind behind us. The first half of the ride was fairly flat too, so other than a few junctions and some temporary traffic lights we were able maintain a decent tempo.

By the time we reached Saddington we had decided that our destination should be the small market town of Uppingham, Rutland. My colleague knew it well and informed me that I had in fact cycled there once before, last year as part of the Rutland Arrivederci Century ride. I believe it was around 90 miles in so I was most likely flagging a bit. At this point the route was beginning to become a bit up and down, with plenty of short sharp kicks offering a perfect environment for some hill intervals. It helps when you ride with someone of an equal ability, if not slightly better, as it pushes you to maintain the pace or at best keep up. This was certainly the case today, especially since I was approaching 20 hours with little or no food.

The hill intervals had taken its toll. As we approached Stockerston my legs were burning with lactic acid. I was also beginning to rekindle the memories of Rutland Arrivederci. One memory in particular was the Climb into Uppingham itself. I remember it being absolute torture last year and with the glorious tail wind of before now a prominent cross wind, I was dreading it.

Low and behold, Stockerston Climb was a relative breeze. It turns out that those months I’ve spent on the indoor turbo trainer has served me well. Don’t get me wrong, my legs felt it, but I set a decent pace and refusing to be provoked into an attack against my colleage, I tucked in, head down and ground away. Before I knew it I was in Uppingham, lid off, tucking into coffee and cake at Don Paddy’s. “Food!”, my stomach could barely believe it. I must say it was possibly the nicest cake I’ve ever eaten, although it would have most likely been the nicest scabby horse I’d ever eaten if that was served alongside my latte.

 

It was while my colleague was offering concern that I was deliberately starving myself in order to beat him up the climbs (I’m not by the way) that the clouds darkened and the heavens began to open. This was going to be a miserable 30 mile ride home in driving rain and a block head wind, running solely on a milky coffee and a slice of Victoria Sponge. A quick stretch of the legs and a downing of the remaining drops of my now cooled caffeine hit and we were again on our way. I decided to sit on the front, channelling my inner Kwiatkowski, and although I didn’t feel the need to chuck my glasses on the roadside I was certainly pushing hard through the almost biblical conditions. The surface was slick in places and flooded in others and I carefully nudged down the hills as opposed to thrashing it down as I did on the way out. Still, despite the wind, rain and lack of food we were able to press on home at a decent pace, swapping duties at the font akin to a mini chain gang albeit only two of us.

As we approached my colleagues house (who lives 5 miles closer than I do) we were absolutely sodden. His teasing earlier about me being anorexic had dissipated and was replaced with heavy breathing with intermittent silence as we rolled into his village. I suppose 50 odd hard miles does that to a man. We pulled over and found some time to moan a bit more about the conditions, but in truth I think we both had enjoyed the battle.

It was then that I was left with the dilemma of having only 5 miles to go, however if I went the long way I could bump my ride up a few miles to get a nice round 100km’s in the legs. Even in this weather, it wasn’t up for debate.

So off I went, home… the long way round.

 

 

 

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