Mad Doug Biker
Just a damaged guy.
- Location
- Craggy Island
Not after today we won't.
If it hadn't been for the smell then I probably could have bottled it up and sold it
What was your most shameful / painful ride?
- Thread starter Andrew_Culture
- Start date
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If it hadn't been for the smell then I probably could have bottled it up and sold it
Mad Doug Biker
Just a damaged guy.
- Location
- Craggy Island
I also lost a stone in the process, which, if you know me, is not the most healthiest thing to happen (I'm only 9 stone anyway). Also I had been lying down for so long that all the muscles in my legs wasted away and by the the time I got out, I needed a stick to walk with! (I got a big kickass Oak Lord Of The Rings/Gandalf type one which will last forever!).
BrumJim
Forum Stalwart (won't take the hint and leave...)
- Location
- Selly Oak, Birmingham
Thought I'd leave my story until after this weekend in case I either jinxed myself, or superseded my worst moment (Kiddiminster Killer attempted).
It was the end of April this year. I'd entered a Sportive in Rutland, same as last year when I shocked myself with how well I finished, but decided to upgrade to the 100 mile route, being yet fitter and still having failed to complete an imperial ton.
Memories of previous spring weather had led me to believe that it would be another sunny yet cool-ish day, with plenty of water drunk, a sun-tan gained, and a positive expectation of a great summer in my heart. As the day grew closer, it became obvious that this would not be the case. Instead it would be unseasonably cool, full cloud cover and an odd shower or two.
Nevertheless, I had everything planned. I was to head off in the car, and my wife would come over and meet me at the finish, coming over by train. I'd also see my Aunt and Uncle, coming from the East, and my Sister, Husband and 3-month-old niece, my first and probably only. We'd all join up for lovely tea and cakes in Oakham, which will have a great choice of cafés for such food. We could then pop in on my Mum's on the way home, and tell her the joyous news of pending repeat Grandmother-hood.
Then it all started to go downhill. My Sister was feeling ill, but not saying anything yet, so pulled out at the last moment with a rather snappy e-mail. My Uncle was otherwise occupied, and Aunt managed to double-book, leaving insufficient time to meet up, and my wife decided that a long journey to visit a sweaty husband in some far-flung lands was vaguely pointless since I would be coming home immediately after the ride.
Then the ride. It started off dull but dry, turned drizzly, and then became full-on wet, but most of all, cold and windy. I'd dressed for light rain only, with only a cycling jersey on top, and shorts and bamboo leggings on the bottom. No shoe covers had yet been bought - that was next on the shopping list. By 25 miles I was cold and wet, and the weather was looking like it was settling in to a steady downpour. I had a choice in getting splashed from the bike in front (Sportive, so mudguards were not much in evident), or taking the wind up the front. I was getting increasingly tempted to pull out altogether, and on spotting the mechanic's van (much used for puncture repairs), stopped in the shelter of a convenient arch/lodge with others. It was pointed out that I was less-well equipped than anyone else, but wasn't feeling too bad, and to avoid the embarrassment of ducking out of the impending two biggest climbs up the Vale of Belvoir, I changed my mind and set off with another group, determined to complete the route whatever the weather threw at me. I'm hardy - I've commuted in colder weather than this wearing nothing more.
Both hills tackled fairly easily as I crested strongly (perhaps could have tried harder), and I then headed downhill to the first stop at 40 miles.
I arrived very wet, very cold, and very miserable. We all were. The feed station was less a set of outside tables and smiling helpers (as I remember from last year), and more of a village hall turned into a refugee centre. There I stood and shivered, with an all-over convulsive shiver that rang alarm bells in the heads of those manning the station. There was already one cyclist wrapped up in spare coats and a bin bag being watched by St John's Ambulance, being fed warm water. I was supplied with a child's left behind coat, and kept drinking hot water, moving around, chatting; anything to re-assure myself that Hypothermia wasn't setting in. Eventually, many, many minutes of shivering later, I was offered a lift back to the start. Given that I felt no warmer, the hall was beginning to empty, and I feared that I wouldn't make it to the next stop, I agreed. There are some things worth taking a risk for. This was definitely not one of them.
They took me back in a car. Three of us had been pulled out of the event at that stop. By the time we got back, all had stopped shivering and were back to a lucid state, and very grateful for the help. I returned to my car to pick up clean clothes and shower kit. In my car was a packable rain jacket that I was planning to take with me, but didn't.
All-in-all I was glad that there was no one to meet me there. I had a bike to pick up from the feed station and an ego to repair. I was chastened, uncommunicative and not good company. I didn't realise how much it hurt until I finally completed my first 100 mile ride almost a month later. I don't know where the yell I let out came from as I passed that invisible 100 mile post, but there must have been a lot of pent-up frustration, annoyance and pain that I had hidden since that day, as I was surprised at its ferocity.
The post-script is that there is always someone worse off than you. One of the other sufferers, who had actually reached an early stage of hypothermia and whose hands were so cold he couldn't apply the brakes, works in an outdoor centre in the Lake District. He shall remain anonymous!
It was the end of April this year. I'd entered a Sportive in Rutland, same as last year when I shocked myself with how well I finished, but decided to upgrade to the 100 mile route, being yet fitter and still having failed to complete an imperial ton.
Memories of previous spring weather had led me to believe that it would be another sunny yet cool-ish day, with plenty of water drunk, a sun-tan gained, and a positive expectation of a great summer in my heart. As the day grew closer, it became obvious that this would not be the case. Instead it would be unseasonably cool, full cloud cover and an odd shower or two.
Nevertheless, I had everything planned. I was to head off in the car, and my wife would come over and meet me at the finish, coming over by train. I'd also see my Aunt and Uncle, coming from the East, and my Sister, Husband and 3-month-old niece, my first and probably only. We'd all join up for lovely tea and cakes in Oakham, which will have a great choice of cafés for such food. We could then pop in on my Mum's on the way home, and tell her the joyous news of pending repeat Grandmother-hood.
Then it all started to go downhill. My Sister was feeling ill, but not saying anything yet, so pulled out at the last moment with a rather snappy e-mail. My Uncle was otherwise occupied, and Aunt managed to double-book, leaving insufficient time to meet up, and my wife decided that a long journey to visit a sweaty husband in some far-flung lands was vaguely pointless since I would be coming home immediately after the ride.
Then the ride. It started off dull but dry, turned drizzly, and then became full-on wet, but most of all, cold and windy. I'd dressed for light rain only, with only a cycling jersey on top, and shorts and bamboo leggings on the bottom. No shoe covers had yet been bought - that was next on the shopping list. By 25 miles I was cold and wet, and the weather was looking like it was settling in to a steady downpour. I had a choice in getting splashed from the bike in front (Sportive, so mudguards were not much in evident), or taking the wind up the front. I was getting increasingly tempted to pull out altogether, and on spotting the mechanic's van (much used for puncture repairs), stopped in the shelter of a convenient arch/lodge with others. It was pointed out that I was less-well equipped than anyone else, but wasn't feeling too bad, and to avoid the embarrassment of ducking out of the impending two biggest climbs up the Vale of Belvoir, I changed my mind and set off with another group, determined to complete the route whatever the weather threw at me. I'm hardy - I've commuted in colder weather than this wearing nothing more.
Both hills tackled fairly easily as I crested strongly (perhaps could have tried harder), and I then headed downhill to the first stop at 40 miles.
I arrived very wet, very cold, and very miserable. We all were. The feed station was less a set of outside tables and smiling helpers (as I remember from last year), and more of a village hall turned into a refugee centre. There I stood and shivered, with an all-over convulsive shiver that rang alarm bells in the heads of those manning the station. There was already one cyclist wrapped up in spare coats and a bin bag being watched by St John's Ambulance, being fed warm water. I was supplied with a child's left behind coat, and kept drinking hot water, moving around, chatting; anything to re-assure myself that Hypothermia wasn't setting in. Eventually, many, many minutes of shivering later, I was offered a lift back to the start. Given that I felt no warmer, the hall was beginning to empty, and I feared that I wouldn't make it to the next stop, I agreed. There are some things worth taking a risk for. This was definitely not one of them.
They took me back in a car. Three of us had been pulled out of the event at that stop. By the time we got back, all had stopped shivering and were back to a lucid state, and very grateful for the help. I returned to my car to pick up clean clothes and shower kit. In my car was a packable rain jacket that I was planning to take with me, but didn't.
All-in-all I was glad that there was no one to meet me there. I had a bike to pick up from the feed station and an ego to repair. I was chastened, uncommunicative and not good company. I didn't realise how much it hurt until I finally completed my first 100 mile ride almost a month later. I don't know where the yell I let out came from as I passed that invisible 100 mile post, but there must have been a lot of pent-up frustration, annoyance and pain that I had hidden since that day, as I was surprised at its ferocity.
The post-script is that there is always someone worse off than you. One of the other sufferers, who had actually reached an early stage of hypothermia and whose hands were so cold he couldn't apply the brakes, works in an outdoor centre in the Lake District. He shall remain anonymous!
OP
OP
Andrew_Culture
Internet Marketing bod
- Location
- The People's Republic Of Suffolk.
Dear lord, that's horrible! Glad you cracked the 100 soon after!
Nihal
Veteran
hondated
Guru
- Location
- Eastbourne East Sussex
BrumJim sorry to read about the difficulties you experienced but also glad that you achieved the 100 shortly after.
DCLane
Found in the Yorkshire hills ...
- Location
- Dewsbury, West Yorkshire
BrumJim - I know the feeling. For me it was the 80-mile mark, which eluded me multiple times until June this year (since then I've gone over it several times) with a huge shout when it was achieved.
My worst moment was my first, and so far my only, Audax in February this year; the 120k Mini North-West Passage. I'd just collected the new Spesh Secteur and decided to use it rather than my winter Carrera Virtuoso (my first mistake). It needed a rack fitting, which I did, plus a rack bag I had.
However, I'd not properly set up the pedals/shoes/cleats and not done a full set of adjustments, so took the 'best guess' approach. I tie-strapped a map holder on to hold the directions and thought I was OK
It started badly, with the rack failing in the first 5 miles
. It was bungee-strapped back on but by then I'd got wet (without proper rain clothes) and my instructions got soaked 
By now I was on my own and it was here the big error came to light. In spending time setting up the bike I'd not paid any attention to the directions.
Never mind, thought I, and carried on. Now a degree in Geography has some use and I managed to find my way round; every time I asked someone where I was it was always correct
and therefore OK.
That was until I hit the ground at the 35k point. Literally - I skidded on some oil/water and landed on my right knee. The bike was fine but it hurt.
The checkpoint duly came, with lunch and a chance to change into dry socks. Met up with another rider from here and all was OK for the next few miles until I got a puncture, which seemed to not want to be repaired. This took more time and by now I just wanted to go home.
From there until the end it was a hard slog, which I finished within the time limit, but felt battered at the end. Next year I'll go back and do it properly - probably the whole 200k North-West Passage event.
Mind you, a week later and the Evans Leeds Ride It! event was fine. I was also one of the few finishers on the horrendously wet and windy Brian Robinson sportive in Huddersfield in April. So I know that it can be just down to the day/weather/preparation. Oh, and I make sure I know where I'm supposed to be going too
My worst moment was my first, and so far my only, Audax in February this year; the 120k Mini North-West Passage. I'd just collected the new Spesh Secteur and decided to use it rather than my winter Carrera Virtuoso (my first mistake). It needed a rack fitting, which I did, plus a rack bag I had.
However, I'd not properly set up the pedals/shoes/cleats and not done a full set of adjustments, so took the 'best guess' approach. I tie-strapped a map holder on to hold the directions and thought I was OK
It started badly, with the rack failing in the first 5 miles
. It was bungee-strapped back on but by then I'd got wet (without proper rain clothes) and my instructions got soaked By now I was on my own and it was here the big error came to light. In spending time setting up the bike I'd not paid any attention to the directions.
Never mind, thought I, and carried on. Now a degree in Geography has some use and I managed to find my way round; every time I asked someone where I was it was always correct
and therefore OK.That was until I hit the ground at the 35k point. Literally - I skidded on some oil/water and landed on my right knee. The bike was fine but it hurt.
The checkpoint duly came, with lunch and a chance to change into dry socks. Met up with another rider from here and all was OK for the next few miles until I got a puncture, which seemed to not want to be repaired. This took more time and by now I just wanted to go home.
From there until the end it was a hard slog, which I finished within the time limit, but felt battered at the end. Next year I'll go back and do it properly - probably the whole 200k North-West Passage event.
Mind you, a week later and the Evans Leeds Ride It! event was fine. I was also one of the few finishers on the horrendously wet and windy Brian Robinson sportive in Huddersfield in April. So I know that it can be just down to the day/weather/preparation. Oh, and I make sure I know where I'm supposed to be going too
