Cramp

Had what promised to be a lovely ride on Monday. Heart Rate Monitor on and faffed with. Garmin on (more faff). Clothes carefully chosen. Tyres the right pressure (apparently). I wanted to do a faster Zone-Whatsit ride on the flat, Cycletta distance. There I was, keeping my heart rate nice and up, pedalling for all I was worth, oodles quicker than my go-all-day-but-really-slowly standard. I was feeling well pleased with myself and looking forward to seeing a blistering average speed and geekily looking at all the zone stuff when 4 miles from home I felt the need to stand on my pedals to stretch my legs out. It didn't help and I soldiered on womanfully (braver than manfully, but on the verge of tears) until a mile or so away I had to actually get off my bike and limp for a bit, then more or less scoot home in agony.
After some prolonged stretching it was clear that this was not some horrible injury but cramp. This sounds all very nothing much, but blinking flip, I couldn't walk up or down the stairs and had to go on all fours. Husband gets cramp regularly and I had always thought he was a bit of a girl about it. I shall never, never, never take this line again.

I am going to have to try the whole going faster business again with the whole Cycletta thing coming up, but I guess I will be swigging the old electrolyte drinks like billy-o. (Is that actually how you spell billy-o? Oddly enough I have never seen it written.)

On the plus side I have a new go-faster head tune. I think of tunes when I am cycling, and clearly only had a going a long way tune (Perfect Motion) and a struggling up hill tune (The Only Way is Up, or a last ditch Things Can Only Get Better). Now I have Out of Control as go-faster tune. I fully recommend getting some good tunes in at the right cadence that you can bear. It is a testament to Sunscreem that I can hear Perfect Motion on and off in my head for up to 7 hours without becoming detainable under the Mental Health Act (1983). At least I hope I am not. I am sure good Sport Psychologists will back me up there.

Ah well- Keep taking the medication and keep pedalling.

Recovery

I had a "gentle" run with a friend, who is training for triathlons and so ended up running rather more than I have of late (ok, ever actually). Limping I was, the next day. Actually lame. Vitamins P and I, as a chap nicely put it on the Trans Wales, were used. All hail analgesia.

I meant to go with the BADTri road ride on Saturday morning but the breakage of a second gear shifter in one week meant another trip to Strada, our fab bike shop, who kindly, speedily, deftly, cheekily and happily sorted it out for me. Do you see the level of gratitude that same-day mending gets you? Anyway, back home for a horrid stint on the Turbo.

Turbo: How to make a perfectly nice bike into a noisy hell-machine, spinning your pedals in the picturesque setting of drying pants and tools. Tourmalet it is not. Sufferfest is the only way of making it half bearable, discounting the idea of non-prescription drugs, which although seemingly all the rage for the sporting cyclist are actually not the best training idea to my mind. They are little movies, films to music, videos or whatever such things are called, downloaded from the interweb. They combine race footage, kind of for inspiration, with a bit of music and amusing instructions regarding effort, leading to sets of intervals to get your legs lactating and your lungs bursting. Horrid though it is, you get to bust your bottom more effectively than when out and about and nobody but the cat gets to see your pinky sweaty face.

Today I merely run after children. At least I am no longer limping. And I have shiny new bar-tape. Thank you chaps.

I am tired.

I just bored my poor local long-suffering bikeshop with excited Trans-Wales rambling, preventing them from serving proper customers. I suspect they are tolerating me rather than calling the police in the knowledge that I will need hundreds of new and expensive parts for my bike shortly, when I assess the damage. When I say "I", I of course mean poor Husband, who has an eye for coggy bits and worn things.
Nice James from the shop reminded me about the "Active Recovery" thing, prompting me to take the road bike out for a 40 minute spin. I am not sure of the evidence base for this as opposed to laying on the sofa feeling tired, but despite feeling a bit on the weak side the legs seem to be functioning and stiffness has gone. This is good. Stretching is also good. I will have to give my Pilates teacher some chocolates, as I hold him entirely responsible for my knee/hip not giving me gyp.

I do feel a bit tired now mind. Good to know that children cut you some slack when you are feeling a bit low on batteries. What? Balderdash you say? Oh yes, they will jump on me later and probably keep me up in the night again. I am not sure that exercise  physiologists factor in that kind of business you know.

The End of Mud

I have done with the Wales for the time being. I smell, I have mud not only on every item of bike clothing I own but also on my children, tent and husband. I thought my legs had tanned un-naturally but I have realised now that the iron ore in the mud was staining my skin. Beneath this my skin is merely pink and blue, with some attractive "Is it self harm?" bramble scratches for good measure. Hey-ho, still pretty pleased with it all. Lots of nice people, extraordinary scenery and riding, no punctures, no crashes (to speak of), and a respectable record on finish times and that. Also some endearing images- a lovely gentleman disappearing over the bars of his bike into a river, apparently competent riders comedy-skidding into moorland hummocks (Or is it tussocks? Never got the difference.)
When a 6 hour cut off for a day ride is a short day you know you should probably go home and have a sit down.

Night riding is genius. The Special Stage on Thursday was a night race in the middle of Wales-nowhere. Borrow some massive lights and a bouncy bike and whizz down a hilll in the dark. I promise that it is vast amounts of fun, and if you do it in company you won't even suddenly get the feeling you are about to be attacked by supernatural forces. Though maybe other people are made of sterner stuff than me, I don't know. Racing off a proper ramp and everything into a never-seen-before woods and doing some kamikaze dash down a hillside  has got to be one of the actual funnest things that it is possible to do. I am not actually even joking.


Anyway. I will shut up about Wales and mountains for a bit. Time Trial anybody?

The sun'll come out, tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar there'll be sun.

I bet it'll rain at some point mind. I am at the Mini Trans-Wales start point and I am properly concerned now. Snappish, and concerned. I have been barking at Child1 and 2 as well as poor long-suffering Husband. If I had a dog it would get it too. The cat is safe with Mad Cat-Man back in Brizzle, otherwise he would have a brisk shooing as well.

My bike is as ready as it can be, I have a route map and various small bike parts I do not know how to use, for emergencies. I have had Extreme Catering (apparently), which happily had cake. I can't imagine there will be cake for breakfast too, but you can hope.

I hope that I, a) get round in a non-humiliating time, b) do not crash, or too badly anyway and c) have a photo taken looking happy and super-fit, even if this is not actually the case.

I will bore you later with the details.........
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Tired

The long one at Kirroghtree and a road ride back to the inlaws place has nearly finished me. Seriously, road rides on mountain bikes are minus fun. Tyre suck- that rrr rrr rrr rrr on the road is soooooooo un-good. The views were beautiful though and at least pot holes were comfortable.

The trails were awesome. I popped on the knee pads at McMoab, I looked at McMoab, I pushed my bike all the way over McMoab. Big rocks. The other bits were tricky but there was a lot of whooping and cursing, which is always a good sign as far as I'm concerned. Coffee and cake happened then, also a very good. And a nice bike shop. All in all a good day out.

I was monstered by the time I got to the house. Literally close to tears and cussing poor signposting and inconvenient hills. Roast dinner and a bath put me right. I shall now watch the riots on tv and go to bed. I can't find any comment for that really.
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Day of Rest

They will rue the day they asked me to write a blog. Please feel free not to read it.

No bicycling today. A fair bit of thinking about them and carrying them in vans but no actual riding. We are driving to Scotland, to a bit near Stranraer where the inlaws live. There is the vague hope tomorrow of actually riding together with my husband for one of the few times since life before children. Admittedly much of the before children riding consisted of him waiting for me at the top of hills while I swore under my breath.

The 7-Stanes are around here- some waymarked trails in lowland woods, and we are hoping to get to Kirroughtree. It has McMoab, which is a slabby Black Trail that I will balls up and do a depressing slow motion fall, having bottled it at a critical point. I am then predicted to have unsightly bruised knees, which will remain un-skirtworthy for the best part of ten days. Thinking about it that way I shall wear pads, hopefully only bruising pride and putting yet another ding in poor Brad's coat. I have said he can have a re-spray if he gets me round Wales intact, in the colour of his choosing. Well it will probably be black again actually, but I like to think the bike approves.

I picked Brad up on my honeymoon in 2004 in Santa Cruz. He is a long suffering Santa Cruz Blur, who I remain enormously attached to, emotionally and often also via cleats. I have even forgiven him for throwing me in a river bed just after I got him back to Britain, recognising that I was partly to blame. The bottling/braking/falling-to-one-side combo occurred close to the edge of a drop, resulting in a Wiley Coyote style tumble down the side. Honestly though, Mountain Biking is great. The whoop to fall ratio is massively favourable compared to most activities.

Road bike is called Francine. I have been caused to name my bicycles by Canadians, for whom it seems customary. Francine will need exercise when we return to base and the Cycletta training should do it nicely.

Anyhoo, a chance to wear the jolly Minx socks at Moab, smashing as they look with pads. Can't beat a free sock.
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Peaks

Spent the night in the house of the lovely Julie Greengrass who is kindly looking after our lovely friend Jason presently. Not only did she provide chicken-based entertainment for the children she took me out into the Peaks for some fine Grit+Rain action. The Peaks manage to look great despite it all and it's a nice change from the Bristol Roots+Rain combo I know and love.

I got to test my waterproof shorts and all that. Shorts slip down my bum a bit but keep my arse dry, which is a blessing. "Waterproof socks" are not. They are merely stiff, itchy containers of rain and mud. This is unfortunate. Don't make me use the overshoes, they look so wrong. Please be dry Wales. Not Whales of course. They die.

Off now to The Lakes where I hope not to have to crack open the waterproofs again. Really, the weather in this country. Deciding what to wear pre-ride can take hours, not to mention Metcheck consulting the night before and discussion with family and friends. Don't get that in California now, do you? The last minute move from short sleeve + armwarmers + scruchy waterproof to full-on sweaty waterproof was a good one. But what else would we talk about? That singing TV thing that the Young People watch in their popular culture? Whose work is crappest? The price of petrol?

I rest my case.
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Machynlleth

I realise that if anyone reads this training for Cycletta is hoping to have inspiration/solidarity in training/schadenfreude, they may be confused.
I will be cycling (a lot) in the next few weeks, but all of road, in preparation for Trans Wales, 4 days of bruised knees and mud. Well, hopefully not mud. Judging by today mainly puddles.
After all this business, assuming I make it in one piece, I will get back out on the road and try some 40k style, relatively hard rides. I am apocalyptically bad at that quick stuff, so having been ok at going v slowly off road for hours at a time I will have to pick it up a bit.
Today I am in Machynlleth and have just had a pop and a half at Cli-Mach-X, the downhilly berm-fest. This is another one of those timed sections. Having had a quick look I have to say that I do not expect to be joining the VitoSport Redbull Downhill Massive any time now.

My internal coach (the continual swearing in my head I hear on rides) was especially scathing. ("Don't stop you pansy. What the arse did you do that for?). I think it was the lack of coffee camping.

Off in the SuperBus now, powered only by griping children and oatcakes, we speed to Glossop, en route to Scotland. They enjoy quality training all the year round there on their bone dry dusty trails. Or is that California.......
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Lost Soul

At Nant yr Arian (not year autofill thank you please) I met a man also doing the Mini Trans Wales 4 day job. The fear on his little face. "It's all I've thought about for the last fortnight.", he said. "I can do the distance but I am not sure I can do it quick enough".

That's what I have said to everybody for the past fortnight too, with the same look on.
Makes me feel better that does.
I hope he does ok.

See you on the Broom Wagon!
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Nant year Arian

Just had a pop at Summit Trail. Mighty fine. Better once I realised my forks were locked out.

There is a reason they don't sell Hardfronts.

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So nice I sent it twice.

It works. That's nice. Sorry about that, I am having techno-fear.
Also bike-stuff packing fear. Despite that actual Gore do have actual things to buy there and there are oodles of shops and I have about a thousand shorts packed.  And husband double checked the shoes/tools/camelbak/helmet/gloves forgetathon. Faff.

Perhaps I should take up running.

Post

Well, here's to see if that email update fellow works.
It will be a very poor blog if not, on the old road trip.
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Post

Well, here's to see if that email update fellow works.
It will be a very poor blog if not, on the old road trip.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Lovely, lovely Minx Competition, lovely, lovely.

Woohoo! I won the competition to enter the Cycletta. This is good as Husband had been muttering at cost per kilometer of various rides. He did the Tour of Flanders this year though, so has no leg to stand on.

It is a bit hard to think about any training-style things for this as am packing to go on a Wales/North/Scotland road trip tomorrow, ending in the Fearful Trans-Wales( Fearful to me. I thought it was shorter when I entered.)
Did a bit on the old Turbo Suffer-fest. Horrid sweat ridden activity, but I expect Pendleton Lady does it, so it is bound to make me faster. Which is not hard. This woman wasn't built for speed. Leaning, reclining, sitting, all good. Speeding is kind of outside the zone de confort.

Anyhoo, back to pack.

Tata