RussellZero
Wannabe Stravati
- Location
- New Forest, Hampshire, UK
Lovely ride out today - bit longer than usual for a midweek lunch time but it was so nice out there.
https://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/5570365721
Your ride today....
- Thread starter gbb
- Start date
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Lovely ride out today - bit longer than usual for a midweek lunch time but it was so nice out there.
https://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/5570365721
Archie_tect
De Skieven Architek... aka Penfold + Horace
- Location
- Northumberland
First ride on the tandem for 2 weeks due to a stinker of a cold... felt OK today so off we went. Lovely evening and a steady 33 miles, but no photos!
Spiderweb
Not So Special One
- Location
- North Yorkshire
This morning I managed to drop my broken Tricross wheel off at Fine Fettle Cycles in Barwick in Elmet for a new spoke & true. Such a busy day at work so only had time for a banana all day, I certainly felt it on my extended ride home, riding the Specialized Crux I had absolutely zero energy!
28.72 miles with my slowest average speed of the year, 13.3mph!
28.72 miles with my slowest average speed of the year, 13.3mph!
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Yesterday was one of those few and far between 'perfect weather for cycling' days. So looking at a wet and windy forecast for later in the week I decided to get most of my weekly mileage done by completing my 13th imperial century of the calendar year.
My route which started and finished in Littleborough, Lancashire included the following:
Rochdale, Birtle, Summerseat, Tottington, Harwood, Bolton, Turton, Edgworth, Darwen, Blackburn, Mellor, Brindle, Bamber Bridge, Cuerden Country Park, Croston, Eccleston, Haigh, Copull, Aspull, Westhoughton, Lostock, and Bolton, Bury, Rochdale again.
A beautiful route which had 6,400 ft of climbing. Not excessive for up here in the Pennines but more hilly overall than I have been riding so far this year due to increasingly dodgy knees. The majority of the climbing was in the first half of the ride.
Post-COVID, this would be a good route to include as a Forum ride with @ColinJ.
Here are a few pictures I took on this sublime early autumn day.
Early morning mist clearing as the sun came out near Edgworth
Weavers Wheel cycle path Darwen
Woods near Aspull
Cycle path through Leverhulme Park Bolton
My route which started and finished in Littleborough, Lancashire included the following:
Rochdale, Birtle, Summerseat, Tottington, Harwood, Bolton, Turton, Edgworth, Darwen, Blackburn, Mellor, Brindle, Bamber Bridge, Cuerden Country Park, Croston, Eccleston, Haigh, Copull, Aspull, Westhoughton, Lostock, and Bolton, Bury, Rochdale again.
A beautiful route which had 6,400 ft of climbing. Not excessive for up here in the Pennines but more hilly overall than I have been riding so far this year due to increasingly dodgy knees. The majority of the climbing was in the first half of the ride.
Post-COVID, this would be a good route to include as a Forum ride with @ColinJ.
Here are a few pictures I took on this sublime early autumn day.
Early morning mist clearing as the sun came out near Edgworth
Weavers Wheel cycle path Darwen
Woods near Aspull
Cycle path through Leverhulme Park Bolton
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Colin Grigson
Bass guitarist - Bad News
- Location
- Slovakia
My second metric century this morning .... 103km to be precise in 3hrs 34mins ... I rode out into an Easterly wind for 52km (15km/h) which was soul destroying, grind , grind , grind - had an energy bar and a good drink and turned around. I literally flew home using gears I’ve never touched previously - I was checking my GPS and my speed was up to 44km/h at times on the flat - crazy but incredibly exhilarating. There’s no hills where I live so don’t get to those sort of speeds usually 
A wonderful September sunny afternoon. Hot in the sun. Nicely warm out of it.
A jaunt out after a mornings work. No plan as is often the case but it turned into a nice cruise around the lanes with a couple of hills thrown in to make it an effort.
25.5 miles and 1600ft of upness.
View: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/56552072
A jaunt out after a mornings work. No plan as is often the case but it turned into a nice cruise around the lanes with a couple of hills thrown in to make it an effort.
25.5 miles and 1600ft of upness.
View: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/56552072
Felt like doing a longish one but upon getting out legs evidently didn't share my enthusiasm..
Took the camera and headed out towards Wittenham clumps to redress last time's abortive effort. Went via the local high-spot on the way out towards Abingdon, to the clumps and back through Dorchester where (much against my usual cynical nature thanks to weather / cycling euphoria) I bought a face mask from a display outside someone's house. Feeeing all positive to be supporting someone's initiative, getting something handmade, finally getting a reuseable one etc I rode home full of smugness... however I've just tried it on and it seems the fiver spent on it would probably have made a more effective mask itself if stapled to my face
Hiding in plain sight..
Atop the hill:
The very straight bit of NCN5 out towards Wittenham Clumps:
One of said clumps in the distance. From here the cycle-sanctioned bridleway heads off to the left past the base of the hill to Shillingford Bridge..
Not the world's best photo but gives an idea of the nice envonment and surface - from this point on I ceased the banging rave and old skool classics in my ears to take in the woodland peace
There were probably better photo opportunities ahead, but by this time I was fully reminded of why I have trying to combine photography and cycling so the camera stayed in the bag for a while while I just enjoyed the ride.
From here it was out onto a largely lovely and smooth mud path skirting around some fields before reaching Shillingford. Then on to ill-fated Dorchester (I think I'll post the mask back through the door with some constructive feedback and ask for my payment to be redirected to a worthy charity)..
Finally I made my way home via the recently discovered bridleway to Toot Baldon; being given-way to by a friendly MTB rider coming the other way along the single track, which was appreciated
Not a bad ride and one that was punctuated throughout by euphoric disbelief at how fantastic the weather was. Would have liked to have made more of it but the 30-odd relatively sedate miles was enough for me today.
Took the camera and headed out towards Wittenham clumps to redress last time's abortive effort. Went via the local high-spot on the way out towards Abingdon, to the clumps and back through Dorchester where (much against my usual cynical nature thanks to weather / cycling euphoria) I bought a face mask from a display outside someone's house. Feeeing all positive to be supporting someone's initiative, getting something handmade, finally getting a reuseable one etc I rode home full of smugness... however I've just tried it on and it seems the fiver spent on it would probably have made a more effective mask itself if stapled to my face
Hiding in plain sight..
Atop the hill:
The very straight bit of NCN5 out towards Wittenham Clumps:
One of said clumps in the distance. From here the cycle-sanctioned bridleway heads off to the left past the base of the hill to Shillingford Bridge..
Not the world's best photo but gives an idea of the nice envonment and surface - from this point on I ceased the banging rave and old skool classics in my ears to take in the woodland peace
There were probably better photo opportunities ahead, but by this time I was fully reminded of why I have trying to combine photography and cycling so the camera stayed in the bag for a while while I just enjoyed the ride.
From here it was out onto a largely lovely and smooth mud path skirting around some fields before reaching Shillingford. Then on to ill-fated Dorchester (I think I'll post the mask back through the door with some constructive feedback and ask for my payment to be redirected to a worthy charity)..
Finally I made my way home via the recently discovered bridleway to Toot Baldon; being given-way to by a friendly MTB rider coming the other way along the single track, which was appreciated
Not a bad ride and one that was punctuated throughout by euphoric disbelief at how fantastic the weather was. Would have liked to have made more of it but the 30-odd relatively sedate miles was enough for me today.
footloose crow
Über Member
- Location
- Cornwall. UK
23 September. Chasing leaves....
Turner (the painter) wrote that British weather creates more inspiration for painting than anywhere else on earth. Although I don't know how much he travelled, I am willing to go with that. Watching grey bottomed clouds tower above the woods in the distance, bands of sunlight illuminating the fields, leaves chase themselves down the lane intoxicated with their release from tree duty, I can see what Turner meant. I like the autumn and its shifting light and rich colours. I may change my mind tomorrow of course, when it is forecast to rain all day.
The bike has been repaired since my crash in July but now it creaks and squeaks all the time. It isn't the bottom bracket. The pedals are greased. When the wind blows I can't hear it but deep in the lanes, out of the wind, standing on the pedals to get up another little steep bit, the whole orchestra of groans rises with the altitude. The bike is distressed and I don't know why.
As for me I am just frightened of bends and drops, braking much more, watching the surface for mud, leaves or grit, conscious of the pain in my still unhealed collar bone and the stark warning from the consultant that another crash will "b*gger it up completely".
How to explain then the compulsion to ride, the need for the bike, the visceral desire to turn pedals, feel the wind, to move across the landscape freely, like wearing seven league boots that never touch the ground. I shouldn't be doing this but I can't stop. Being unable to stop was the cause of my problems in the first place. Too much speed, too little care. The bike is going to nag me all ride about it.
Leaving Truro it is downhill on a fast A road and my promises to Madame Crow to ride slowly are forgotten as I try to keep up with the passing cars. Speed is a drug. The hedgerows blur in my peripheral vision and the tyres hiss with excitement. Then off the main road and up the lane, the operative word being 'up', to the quiet village of Probus. Spin, squeak, spin, groan, spin, squeak, the mothers picking up children from the nursery look up in alarm as I pass, lights flashing, bike complaining, breath ragged. Perhaps it is the imagined slipstream of corona virus left behind me that alarms them? No, it is the noise. The children point. I wave.
Into the quiet lanes now, tree tunnels of green light, patchy sun burning through the gaps where leaves turn and twist down towards me. In the dips in the road the recent rain has piled up gravel and grit into wheel slipping drifts. I think about this. I think about cars appearing suddenly from the many blind bends. I am so busy thinking that I fail to see a red Kia until it is just a few yards away. The driver has stopped for me, luckily. I berate myself. I imagine Madame Crow berating me. My bike groans and squeaks. It is probably also berating me. It seems to have suffered life changing injuries in that crash.
A steep drop into Ladock village and then it is up, up and away, the Wahoo telling me what it is going from 5% to 8%, then 12%, then 14%.I keep my eye on the road and don't look ahead. I don't want to see how steep it is. Now some downhill into Ladock Woods and then a long uphill that starts at 3% and steepens to 8% and goes on....and on.
I reach the roof of Cornwall some 700 feet higher than I was and in the distance, across the patchwork of fields and woods I can see the glint of the sea and the north coast. There is a house here called 'Ocean View'. Madame Crow is always impressed by the name when we come this way - "not Sea View" she says, "which would be too tame for this viewpoint towards America, towards the wild green Atlantic".
From here it is across to the south coast, the rolling landscape of bright green fields and woods, the wind now turned more towards me, willing me on as my legs feel the weight of too many contour lines, the dark line of hills that make up the central moors reflecting the dourness of the sky.
Click, squeak, groan, the bike grumbles its way along the lanes. It seems to have become heavier, slower, less willing to climb, less willing to sprint. Perhaps it is me. To enjoy the ride I need to stay in the moment and not calculate how far is left to go, how many hills. It begins to work and I start to notice the small things again, the texture of the hedgerows, the shape of the clouds, the number of shades of green in one grassy bank, the pattern of light on the road.
The last hills up and into Truro go more easily than I feared and I have got used to the cacophony of noise from the bike. At least I don't need a bell as every pedestrian turns to see what monster is approaching.
This afternoon I will put the bike up on the stand and see what is wrong with it. Remove the pedals and re-grease them. The bottom bracket is new. I will lubricate everything. Tomorrow I see the consultant again - maybe he can do something about the clicks and groans from my collarbone, the dull ache. I suspect "not cycling" may be the prescription.
Turner (the painter) wrote that British weather creates more inspiration for painting than anywhere else on earth. Although I don't know how much he travelled, I am willing to go with that. Watching grey bottomed clouds tower above the woods in the distance, bands of sunlight illuminating the fields, leaves chase themselves down the lane intoxicated with their release from tree duty, I can see what Turner meant. I like the autumn and its shifting light and rich colours. I may change my mind tomorrow of course, when it is forecast to rain all day.
The bike has been repaired since my crash in July but now it creaks and squeaks all the time. It isn't the bottom bracket. The pedals are greased. When the wind blows I can't hear it but deep in the lanes, out of the wind, standing on the pedals to get up another little steep bit, the whole orchestra of groans rises with the altitude. The bike is distressed and I don't know why.
As for me I am just frightened of bends and drops, braking much more, watching the surface for mud, leaves or grit, conscious of the pain in my still unhealed collar bone and the stark warning from the consultant that another crash will "b*gger it up completely".
How to explain then the compulsion to ride, the need for the bike, the visceral desire to turn pedals, feel the wind, to move across the landscape freely, like wearing seven league boots that never touch the ground. I shouldn't be doing this but I can't stop. Being unable to stop was the cause of my problems in the first place. Too much speed, too little care. The bike is going to nag me all ride about it.
Leaving Truro it is downhill on a fast A road and my promises to Madame Crow to ride slowly are forgotten as I try to keep up with the passing cars. Speed is a drug. The hedgerows blur in my peripheral vision and the tyres hiss with excitement. Then off the main road and up the lane, the operative word being 'up', to the quiet village of Probus. Spin, squeak, spin, groan, spin, squeak, the mothers picking up children from the nursery look up in alarm as I pass, lights flashing, bike complaining, breath ragged. Perhaps it is the imagined slipstream of corona virus left behind me that alarms them? No, it is the noise. The children point. I wave.
Into the quiet lanes now, tree tunnels of green light, patchy sun burning through the gaps where leaves turn and twist down towards me. In the dips in the road the recent rain has piled up gravel and grit into wheel slipping drifts. I think about this. I think about cars appearing suddenly from the many blind bends. I am so busy thinking that I fail to see a red Kia until it is just a few yards away. The driver has stopped for me, luckily. I berate myself. I imagine Madame Crow berating me. My bike groans and squeaks. It is probably also berating me. It seems to have suffered life changing injuries in that crash.
A steep drop into Ladock village and then it is up, up and away, the Wahoo telling me what it is going from 5% to 8%, then 12%, then 14%.I keep my eye on the road and don't look ahead. I don't want to see how steep it is. Now some downhill into Ladock Woods and then a long uphill that starts at 3% and steepens to 8% and goes on....and on.
I reach the roof of Cornwall some 700 feet higher than I was and in the distance, across the patchwork of fields and woods I can see the glint of the sea and the north coast. There is a house here called 'Ocean View'. Madame Crow is always impressed by the name when we come this way - "not Sea View" she says, "which would be too tame for this viewpoint towards America, towards the wild green Atlantic".
From here it is across to the south coast, the rolling landscape of bright green fields and woods, the wind now turned more towards me, willing me on as my legs feel the weight of too many contour lines, the dark line of hills that make up the central moors reflecting the dourness of the sky.
Click, squeak, groan, the bike grumbles its way along the lanes. It seems to have become heavier, slower, less willing to climb, less willing to sprint. Perhaps it is me. To enjoy the ride I need to stay in the moment and not calculate how far is left to go, how many hills. It begins to work and I start to notice the small things again, the texture of the hedgerows, the shape of the clouds, the number of shades of green in one grassy bank, the pattern of light on the road.
The last hills up and into Truro go more easily than I feared and I have got used to the cacophony of noise from the bike. At least I don't need a bell as every pedestrian turns to see what monster is approaching.
This afternoon I will put the bike up on the stand and see what is wrong with it. Remove the pedals and re-grease them. The bottom bracket is new. I will lubricate everything. Tomorrow I see the consultant again - maybe he can do something about the clicks and groans from my collarbone, the dull ache. I suspect "not cycling" may be the prescription.
Great to have you back.
ianbarton
Veteran
What a fantastic post. Just make sure you feign sudden deafness if he mentions "Not cycling".
I checked the forecast this morning, and it wasn't very promising. By lunchtime it was raining steadily, but I really needed some fresh air, so went out to get wet with the flat bar.
Usual lunchtime 10 mile loop, when I went over the M5 on the way up Hatfield Bank this was the view:
A southbound lorry went across the reservation, through the northbound carriageway and ended up on the embankment, closing the northbound carriageway. Amazingly, there were no other vehicles affected or any serious injuries.
Anyhow, I was getting wet so carried on with my ride. Of course, as soon as I put the bike away the rain stopped, and we had a dry afternoon so at least I could hang my riding clothes to dry in the garden.
The map
Usual lunchtime 10 mile loop, when I went over the M5 on the way up Hatfield Bank this was the view:
A southbound lorry went across the reservation, through the northbound carriageway and ended up on the embankment, closing the northbound carriageway. Amazingly, there were no other vehicles affected or any serious injuries.
Anyhow, I was getting wet so carried on with my ride. Of course, as soon as I put the bike away the rain stopped, and we had a dry afternoon so at least I could hang my riding clothes to dry in the garden.
The map
twentysix by twentyfive
Clinging on tightly
- Location
- Over the Hill
Heavy rain meant wet roads so once the rain had stopped I picked up the mudguard machine. The clouds were ominous as I headed through the Castlemorton lanes and I felt an occasional rain drop. Nothing came of it though so it was on down to Redmarley and over Brand Green. Still the clouds were dark. Every shade of grey indeed. No silver linings though. A line of 7 white swans showed up against the black as they flew towards me. On up the Hams I stopped briefly at the reserve to spot a heron peering over the reeds and a pair of teal coming in to land. Time was progressing so the legs set to on a slightly bigger gear than usual. All good to finish as the dark clouds had vanished. Maybe I shooed them away. 47 smiles
Good to have you amongst us again. Superb writing, thank you indeed. And aye, mate, the ache goes away.
