ABR - The longest day

Life has now become about three things: eating, drinking and riding bikes. Sleep and rest might also sneak in but nothing else matters. I’m at that point where having three platefuls of breakfast knowing I’m going to be riding for 5-6 hours that day is totally normal; anyone who has ever done a stage race will know what I mean. And you also find yourself saying things like “just 40km to go”, “this climb only goes up to 700m” and “there’s a couple of big climbs and the rest are less than 3km long”.

At 90km today was the longest stage of the week and also took us past the half way point in terms of distance – finally! The start in Cordoba was incredible, in amongst the Roman temples, theatres and ruins. We started next to the river and headed across the old Roman bridge on a very twisting and dangerous 5km run out of town and onto the Cordoba estate.

Needless to say the countryside was gorgeous, views amazing and more ancient ruins were scattered around. The riding was also brilliant. Anyone thinking of going on a mountain bike holiday to Spain should really come to Andalucia – there are miles and miles of beautiful, buff, flowing, rocky, rooty, steep singletrack that seems to go on forever! I’m sure our race route is just scratching the surface and it definitely deserves a repeat visit. A proper holiday next time.

Today also gave me a new contender for my ‘most unfun things I’ve ever done on a bike’ list: the old railway line. I don’t mean some polished, flattened, landscaped old railway line that Sustrans have as part of their enormous National Cycle Route network. Oh no, I mean 2km of actual ‘old railway line’ with sleepers, tracks, stone infill and all, just abandoned. If you’ve never ridden a bike along an actual railway line it’s quite hard to imagine how uncomfortable, bumpy and awful it really is. Go try it some time.

After 50km we were ticking along just wanting to get through the day, until the inevitable happened and with 20km to go we caught up first place. From here the route pretty much climbed for 9km and ended with a 6km downhill. There was no way I’d stay with them on the climb so I told Sally to take the climb and descent at her own pace and I’d catch her/them up towards the finish; a gutsy plan knowing the level of rocky trails we’d been riding all day, but I was confident.

Now it’s probably appropriate here to point out that the first time I ever rode the Canyon Exceed CF SLX I’ve been using as my race bike was during the first stage on Sunday. I’ve only ridden a 29er half a dozen times, I’ve never ridden the Rock Shox RS1 fork and there are a number of other components that are new to me, including SRAM XX1. So I’m sure it’s testament to the bike’s ability and my new favourite suspension fork that I actually made it down in one piece.

I’d been using the lazy ‘point and shoot’ technique all day (the one where you don’t pick a line you just go straight and hang on) and now was no different. I hit everything full on, fingers off the brakes as much as possible just letting the bike roll and suck up every rock, drop, jump and lump that was in my way. “Sketchy” would be an understatement, “on the edge” more like it and I’d definitely throw in “hooning” because I like the sound of it. Arm/wrist pump didn’t take too long to set in and with the lack of strength in my right hand it was an effort just to hold the bars – turns out faster equals smoother due to less time on the ground. Bonus!

I managed to make up about three minutes and caught up the others as we turned onto a flatter gravel track. Sally had nothing left and with the few minor uphills we had to the finish, and the fact the leading pair were riding in with a group of mates, I just couldn’t close the gap no matter how hard I pushed. Their winning margin was just a couple of corners through the finish area, 31 seconds. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow…

ABR - The sprint finish

Today should have been a slightly easier day although it’s funny how quickly your perspective changes during these events. It’s rare to call 72km of off-road with 1,800m of climbing ‘easy’ but compared to yesterday, it should have been.

I knew something was up quite early on as ‘things’ just weren’t feeling right; my shorts weren’t comfy, my vest was riding up, I forgot to put my heart rate monitor on. Nothing was flowing. And to cap it all my right thumb had lost all strength and I was unable to grab clothing, open gel packets or (more importantly) push a gear lever with ease.

The start was another mass panic through town and out across the fields, followed by lots of walking down into little gullies to cross a stream and then walking up out the other side. This was not the flattish first 20km I had expected and my legs just weren’t there. The whole day I had nothing, no real feeling of getting going, I was just going through the motions with my heart rate hardly getting about 160bpm.

Even steeper than it looks

The real kicker came around 55km and the big climb which, although fire road, loomed over the valley and looked almost vertical at the top. It was tough but at least the summit marked the start of the last descent. As I reached it, Sally was waiting for it and happened to mention she’d caught the pair who were probably in second place, they were only about 8 minutes ahead. Hmmm, 14km to go, mostly descent, 8 minutes gap, never going to happen, forget about it…

We flew down the final descent like we were invincible. Steering and braking was a thing of the past as we were now confident enough in our ability, and that of the bike that we could just straight line everything and the bike would suck it up. How right we were and much fun was had, despite a few dodgy line choices. Ahem.

Then it happened. As we rejoined the section that had been the first 6km, we spotted the pair in second. Subconsciously I picked up the pace a little bit – well, I’d done nothing all day, it’s not as if I was tired. We soon caught them on the undulating sections and I desperately tried to remember the route home. The 5km to go sign and we were sitting on their wheels. Competitive? Us? Never.

I told Sally to hang back and not go past, save her legs, she might have to tow me home. Down onto the gravel track and they were leading us out. They sat up a bit and eased off. At the next slight descent I went for it and Sally sat on, it took them a while to get up to speed but they soon did and were sat on our wheels. I sat up, knowing we weren’t going to shake them and let Sally come alongside to give her a crash course in race tactics.

At around 2km to go Sally upped the pace and I tucked in behind, keeping an eye on the chasing pair. Soon we were approaching tarmac roads at the edge of town, “make sure we get into the streets first, they’ll be tight in places” I said. My Garmin then said 1km to go and on the closed roads of Andujar I dropped low on the bike and went as hard as I could just hoping Sally was with me. The roads were long and straight for a while, maybe I’d gone too early, better dig in and hope. But then came the last couple of bends and the finish line, we’d done it!

Only metres later all four of us were high fives and hugs, what an awesome way to finish 5 hours of racing. The ladies from the Polar Team were just as happy as we were; who doesn’t like a healthy bit of competition and a good bit of tactical bike racing. Andalucia Bike Race stage 3 results are here.

ABR - The big day and the mass start

The mass start

Yesterday was a pleasant time trial start, just me and Sally bumbling down the road at our own pace. Today was the mass start and our category was gridded about a third of the way down the field. When the hooter went the chaos began as hundreds of Masters Men sped past us as we made our way around the narrow, twisting start roads. How ten cyclists fit across one road lane, riding within inches of one another at 20mph+ always astonishes me, considering the varying abilities. Soon the peloton was snaking out in front of us as far as the eye could see; a thousand riders strong, five times the size of the Tour de France.

Then came the inevitable bottle neck on the first climb and from then on it was a constant stream of riders grinding up the hill when gears would allow and walking when the going got tough. After an hour and a considerable amount of hike a bike we were almost at the top of the first climb. Last night we’d decided today would be the ‘hardest day’ at 76km and 2,400m of ascent, topping out at around 1,300 metres twice, so it would be a case of head down and just get through it.

I’d previously joked with a friend that by the end of stage 2 I’d be shattered and at the end of stage 3 I’d be on my knees, sobbing and in need of a hug. With 40km to go I’d already entered the stony cold silent phase, when there’s nothing but emptiness inside; too tired to speak and look up, never mind moan or cry and you just want it to be over. Some might joke this is the point at which people have a sense of humour failure, but really it’s just your body shutting down all non-essential functions such as the need to process human speech, never mind action an appropriate response to witty comments.

Hike a bike

Even the descents were taking their toll – burning glutes, aching arms and weak hands having to grab the brakes with two fingers – a momentary lapse of concentration could lead to disaster. Having not ridden off road since Christmas it’s amazing how quickly your descending techniques come back to you when faced with 10 steep, rocky switchbacks in a row. This is when 20 years of experience of riding a variety of bikes comes in very handy.

The last 10km contained a colourful selection of expletives followed by “this isn’t on the bloody profile” until finally, after almost 6 hours, we reached the finish line and somehow managed a short sprint to make sure we were under the magic 6 (it mattered to us). Done. Well and truly done. One of the hardest days I’ve ever had on a mountain bike.

To our surprise we were met by an organiser telling us we’d actually come third and were needed for the podium in ten minutes – clearly this was met with hysterical laughter and the best high five we could muster which wasn’t very impressive. Stage 2 results for the Andalucia Bike Race are here.

ABR - I remember now

Racing. MTB Stage racing. The “hey, let’s go and do a winter stage race somewhere hot, it’ll be fun” ideas that I just seem incapable of turning down. Hence I’m now at the Andalucia Bike Race, on a whim and just 6 weeks of training.

It’s been a couple of years since I did a mountain bike race. The last one was also an international stage race, the 4-day Cyprus Sunshine Cup. Each day I would turn up, ride, finish and climb on to the podium having the glorious honour of being both first and last – that’s what happens when you’re the only Master Woman riding. After that, I swore “never again”, but then I say that every time I have a heavy night and huge hangover and that promise never lasts very long. And of all things in my life, perhaps cycling is the only one that actually pre-dates drinking so there’s even more of a precedent there.

I remember the routine of stage racing. Wake up, eat and drink, ride, eat and drink while riding, finish, eat and drink, shower, eat and drink, sleep. Repeat for x number of stages. It’s kinda nice to just immerse yourself in what it must be like to be a pro-rider for a while, but then I remember that taking part hurts and winning looks masochistic so to dabble on occasion is enough for me.

I remember the excitement of the town centre starts and the crowds cheering you on with encouraging shouts you can’t understand; the families having picnics in their gardens to watch the race; the one random stranger on a climb who starts clapping the moment he sees you and doesn’t stop until you’re once again out of sight; the closed roads and police escorts, smiling marshals and patient car drivers who shout a hearty “Vamos! Vamos!” not in the slightest bit bothered that you’ve delayed their day by a minute or so.

I remember the dilemma of whether to look at the stage profiles or not – intrigued by how far it is and how much climbing there will be but equally anxious about the thought of what lies ahead. Ignorance is bliss as they say; except when your heart is pounding so loudly in your head that you need to know whether to risk heart failure because you’re almost at the top or if you should just cut your losses and live to ride another day. Then there’s the “last climb, it’s all downhill from here” moment (which should be a mandatory sign on every cycle course) which sparks the glimmer of hope and final release of energy that always gets you home.

I remember what it’s like hanging off the back of a bike with your belly on the saddle, backside just off the rear wheel, as you grip the bars at full stretch down an unknown technical and steep descent with a technique that at best can be called ‘controlled falling’ and ‘lucky’ if you’re being honest.

I remember the jelly legs and shaking hands at the bottom of the descent only to be faced with a wall of trail in front of you and the frantic clicking, clunking, clanging and wincing that accompanies the panic of trying to find the right gear for your non-functioning legs before your thighs explode. Then the moment of disbelief when the lever will go no further and you realise you are in the lowest gear. But still you pray that they snuck another one in there, a secret one, just for emergencies, one so big you’d never even noticed it was there and now in this very moment of pain and desperation the chain will magically, seamlessly, slip on to it and you will spin on. But no, there are no more gears.

I remember the effort of my whole torso heaving at the bars trying to use the leverage of every inch of every limb to haul the crank over one more time and hoping that sheer body weight, or gravity or ‘the force’ will do the rest; knowing that every pedal stroke takes you closer to the top of the hill, and every hill summit gets you closer to the finish and the end of this self-inflicted suffering.

And then I remember that I have five more longer, harder, hotter, steeper days to go…

Privilege

It's so easy to forget how privileged we are to be cyclists. We get to see the world and explore places in a way that a majority of the population don't. I was reminded of this on a recent trip to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil.

I spent most of my holiday riding about: along the beaches, through the city and up into Tijuca National Park. The views were stunning, the experience indescribable. Then one day I caught a minibus up to Christ the Redeemer in the National Park. On the way up, passengers were tripping over themselves to take photos of the amazing views over the city - Maracana stadium, Pao de Acucar, Copacabana etc it really is a stunning city.

I, however, had no interest in taking these photos through minibus windows, because I already had them all. My previous few days had been spent riding from Copacabana up in to the National Park via the Vista Chinesa along Cristo Redentor and generally hanging out in the sunshine, enjoying the views and just taking it easy. The numerous jeep tours and minibuses passing by hadn't escaped me though. But the realisation of this didn't dawn on me until I was in one of the aforementioned minibuses.

People who don't ride have two transport options: foot or vehicle. And for Tijuca National Park, being too far to venture for most on foot, the only option a tourist is to go by vehicle where the route, speed and stopping points are completely out of their control. They don't get to experience the sweat of the climb, the glimpse of the race course through the trees, the pull in at the hairpin, and the world going by at an appreciable rate.

All of this, I take for granted. Exploring a new city or country on a bike is the obvious and simple thing to do. So it's easy to miss all the things that we see, and the rest of the world doesn't. We appreciate the world around us because we travel at a speed that allows us to see enough of it in one day to feel like we're discovering things, but that speed also allows us to 'see' that world. It's quite remarkable really.

So next time you're on holiday, riding about on your bike, just remember all those poor tourists who don't get to see beyond a couple of miles of the city they're in, or who are in a vehicle with the world speeding by at a pace they can't appreciate; and smile, knowing that as a cyclist, we are the privileged ones. We experience and see and feel and hear the world in a way so many others don't, and all because we ride bikes. We are the lucky ones.

Reaching for the Skye

The original plan was a 9 day bike-packing trip to the Isle of Skye, what actually happened after a two hour drive through torrential rain on a Friday evening with darkening skies and blustering winds, was a last minute self-catering cottage booked for a week.

And so it began. All change. A quick trip into Fort William to purchase suitable footwear - packing for a week of cycling is quite different to a week of walking but I refused to buy anything more than a new pair of Salomon trainers as I have a house full to overflowing with walking gear, even if it was 400 miles away!

View over Portree from the cottage

This was only the second of the annual 'trips with friends' we'd planned all those years ago in Aviemore - me, Steve M and Chris G. The first one to Anglesey was a few years in the making and then there has been a gap of another 4 or 5 years so we're actually working on two a decade. But considering the amount we drink on these trips, that might well be a good thing.

The two bedroom self-catering cottage, Mountain View, just outside Portree couldn't have been more perfect. It had everything needed for a comfortable week including stunning views in all directions. Mornings started with a quick look outside to check the sunrise and every evening half an eye was kept on sunsets and cloud formations. Low cloud and rainbows were also a feature, as was the resident hare.

Each day was different with hill walks, beach trips, distillery tours, castle visits and the odd ride here and there. Despite the bad weather on some days we still managed to get out and about - bad weather equals moody skies and great photos remember. Although I'm not so sure the trip to the most westerly part of the island, Nieste Point, on a day with 70mph winds was such a good idea as I couldn't actually hold the camera still enough to get a sharp shot!

Fortunately for me, Steve Makin is a professional standard photographer and if you're going to be stuck on a dramatic isle for a week at the changing of the seasons, there's really nobody better. We'd be driving somewhere, one of us would spot a shot, get out, take some photos and jump back in; only to repeat the same actions a few miles down the road when another glorious view appeared. Evenings were spent reviewing the 100 or so photos taken each day, and drinking a formidable amount of alcohol. On a good day I'm as quick as Steve on a bike, on some days I'm as enthusiastic as he is about riding, unfortunately I'll never be as good as him at taking photos.

Another incredible week with one of my closest friends and a great way to relax after such a busy summer. Just what I needed: an old friendship strengthened, new friendships made, new places explored, a hobby encouraged, knowledge gained and a change of perspective in many ways.

The full photo gallery is available on my flickr page. And to see how it can be done, Steve's flickr gallery is here.

Bang, whoosh, bang, whoosh...

That's been my day. Life is a rollercoaster but to be on one today that's travelling so fast has thrown me a little bit and left me flailing.

It started wit a phone call from the Cycle Chilterns project funder saying that we had been unsuccessful in our bid for a one year project extension. Bummer. So the project will finish in March 2015 as planned and I'll be out of a job. I'm okay with that bit as that was the plan from the start and an extension would have been a bonus. It's the feeling that we're just really starting to get going and gaining momentum and that extra year could have really seen some good stuff happening. But not any more.

Then it's the Dacorum Borough Council regional launch of the Tour of Britain today - a celebration of one of my greatest project achievements of getting stage 6 to come to the Chilterns and finish in Hemel Hempstead. My crowning glory if you will. Ironic that one of the reasons the bid extension was turned down was because it had a weak economic case and wasn't value for money enough. Now I'm not quite sure what our government classes as value for money, but I'd have thought a 100 times return on investment was pretty good (for what the project has put into the Tour of Britain compared to economic impact it will have on the Chilterns). Obviously they have higher expectations. Anyway, the closer we get to this, just 2 months now, the more awesome it gets.

Bang. I get a phone call telling me that one of the people I was working with quite closely during 2013 died of cancer a couple of days ago. This piece of news stopped me dead in my tracks and I've been next to useless for the last half an hour. Time to cut my losses, call it a day and go enjoy the world outside my window and try and get my mojo back for the duration of the project.

The day will end by installing a new cycle hire fleet in a business in the centre of the Chilterns. Again, another project success that I'm quite proud of. Well, I guess only time will tell if it is a success, but just getting to this stage has been a bit of an ordeal. A hire fleet at our disposal will be of huge benefit to the project, local clubs, ride leaders and organisations. A fantastic asset and legacy for the Chilterns AONB whatever happens.

Right, off to see what else can possibly happen in the next 11 hours.

My first crit race

By Sara Randle. Aged 35 and a fifth.
Yep, it's true. All these years I've been riding/racing bikes and I've never done a crit race, or a road race for that matter. But somehow I was talked into by a friend, "oh, it's very low key with a huge variety of riders. You'll enjoy it". Famous last words!

Due to the recent weather it was kind of a last minute decision so I wasn't prepared at all (surprise, surprise) and before I knew it I was at Stourport sports club for the last round of the Wooly Mamil Winter Crit Series.

I guess if you're going to do something for the first time at this age you might as well do it in good company and my pre-race companions were World Champion MTB rider Tracy Moseley and series leader Maxine Filby (my 'friend' and driver for the day). T-Mo, her young club mate and I spent much of our warm up comparing how totally out of place we were:
"It'll take me half a lap to clip in with these road shoes" I said, "it took me an hour last night to find them!"
"Are you allowed mudguards?" asked Tracy.
"Are you using MTB pedals T-Mo? Are peaks on helmets acceptable or will I be shunned?"
"If I'd have known, I'd have worn mine, and baggies" she said.
"Crikey, I can't even remember the last time I rode a road bike," I said, "and I've never ridden this bike, it's Paul's."
Fortunately Max took all of this in good spirits and laughed off our completely amateurish and un-serious approach to what we were about to do.

Start line. Off we went, down to the first corner, sharp left, into brickwall-like headwind. Second corner, how dodgy?! Pick a line girls, any line, just stick to it, eh?! Third corner, a 180, sprint surge down the hill, what the hell?! Chase to pack, next corner, sprint surge, oh my god! Fifth corner, sprint. 180 degree turn, lap 1 done. Chase. Corner. Brickwall headwind. Click, clank, crunch... gears gone. And so were the group.

I managed to maintain a steady gap of around 100 metres to the group for some time, passing a number of riders on the way and picking up my own little group. Then I think I got a bit bored and decided I wasn't going to bridge the gap, finally the leaders lapped me andI  sat up. I wondered, if I got lapped enough, would I have to complete the full 30 minutes plus 5 laps? Hmmm...

By now I was around half a lap behind Tracy which meant we passed each other on the opposite sides of the long straight each lap. We started having short conversations and waving. I also started chatting to the other girls. I do that a lot in racing. Finally I got the whistle signalling five laps to go and the quicker I got these over with, the quicker it would all be over.

Off I went again, head down, 5 to go! Still chatting to everybody I came across. The leaders (Max!) lapped me a second time on their finishing straight. My final lap was a very relaxed affair with another rider finishing with an exceedingly gentle 'pootle finish' to the line. All very civilised.

Well, that was a learning experience. I had no idea what it was going to involve and got completely caught out, not least because of gear problems, on a bike I'd never ridden, but because of the speed of racing and the full on, continuous sprint/surge/maximum effort intervals involved.  I averaged 18.6mph for 45 minutes - never done anything like that, ever. Still, it was fun in some ways and I think with a bit of practice I might be able to get the hang of it.

Overall report: must try harder.

I'm just gonna go with "Ow"

I've been riding a lot just recently so when some friends came over for the weekend it was a rare opportunity to ride with people. On Saturday we took part in the Cycle Chilterns Brewery Ride - this involved a road ride to the Chiltern Brewery for a free beer, or two, some seasonal spirit and wine tasting and warm mince pies with brandy butter. The ride was followed by a pint, an early evening pub dinner and then more wine at my house. Well, when you start drinking at 11am on a Saturday, things are only going to go one way.

Riding on a bridleway. Honest, it even says so.

On Sunday we decided to go off road and explore some local bridlesways and, er, 'other' paths. Paul, Chris and Rachel had all ridden some of the routes last year when they came round for a ride. I was still injured at the time so didn't ride with them, just had the pleasure of hoovering the carpet and mopping the floor on their return. All was going well and we were having a pleasant ride in the sunshine including lunch at the cafe in the woods. After a few hours we started heading back. I checked the map and we had to look out for a bridleway and take a sharp right off the damp, muddy lane.

Bang! I was down. I'd dropped the bike making the 90 degree turn. I think I put my hand down first, although my shoulder and back hurt too, as did my hip, and I think I hit my head but I can't really remember. Oh hang on, memory loss is a sign of a bang on the head, isn't it?

Anyway, first things first, is the bike alright? All intact, just a chain off. Phew. So aside from a large mud patch down my right side, all was good. Off we went. Moments later Rachel's new Trek came out in a sympathy puncture and while the usual tag team puncture repair act took plac between the other three, it gave me a bit of time to get myself together again. I checked my helmet for any sign of damage but three were no dents, no scuffs, not event a spot of mud. The throbbing in my head said I'd definitely banged my head but it all happened so fast that I really can't remember. But memory loss is a sign of a bang on the head, isn't it?

Ridgeway path to lunch

Moving on... we were soon home for tea and cake without further incident. Though the phrase "that 's gonna sting in the morning" was used more than once.

And sting it did. A nice bit of gravel rash on my thigh, stiff neck, couple of cuts and grazes and a penny-sized bruise on my knee. In the afternoon my ribs ached slightly and my palm was bruised. I decided to have a rest day.

By chance, I've been seeing a chiropractor regularly since my injury in 2012 and fortunately I had an appointment booked for Tuesday evening. I mentioned the small bike incident to her almost in passing, after all, it's not unusual for us cyclists to slide over like that.

Well, my 'injuries' as mentioned above were nothing compared to her prognosis: a crooked neck, six twisted ribs, my pelvis had been shunted up and back on one side and I had a dislodged fibular head. Crikey, all that from one little fall. Had she been holding a clipboard standing at the end of a hospital bed I'd have thought the recipient of such injuries had just had a lucky escape from a car crash. But I've learnt over the years that professionals are keen to make things sound fancy and complicated - its how they justify their jobs and outrageous hourly rates. As it is, I'm sticking with "ow".

The real story

Not so long ago I wrote a blog for CTC - 'A pleasant surprise on the Chilterns Cycleway' - about a ride I'd done. It was all very gently plodding along and "hey, why don't you go ride it too, it's great!" in it's tone. But it's not entirely accurate, there were certain details I left out of the blog, for reasons that will become obvious as I recount the real story.

So one Saturday in November I'd decided I was going to ride a large section of the Cycleway to the east of the M1 that I'd never ridden. Looking at the map I figured it would only be around 50 miles, 55 tops! (Though in the back of my mind I knew this was a conservative estimate.) I also guessed it would take around 5 hours.

Now this being winter and sunset around 4pm I knew, even with these supposed "worse case scenarios" I had to leave by 11am. At 11.30 I headed downstairs to put my shoes on, complete with one bottle of water, an energy gel and £3.50 in change, in case I wanted to stop for coffee and cake en route. The experienced cyclists among you at this point might be thinking that doesn't sound like a lot for a 5 hour ride. (I also knew this, but ignored it, the £3.50 would save me.) I did pause at the door though, just for a moment; my tiny L.E.D lights were on the stairs, I grabbed them and shoved them in my pocket.

Not far into the ride it started to rain. I was wearing a soft shell with no waterproof but figured it was just a passing shower and continued with my plan. This isn't like me. On a normal day I plan the quickest route back at the first sign of rain but today was different. Something in my brain had disengaged, that bit that assesses consequences of actions, it was being drowned out by the "in denial-campus" section of my brain instead. Today, everything would be fine, what could go wrong.

Two hours later I'd only completed a pathetic 20 miles and looking at the map, I didn't seem to be that far into the ride. At this pace, it looked like it might take a bit longer than 5 hours, better pick it up a little bit. A few miles later I saw a sign for 'Offley 2', I knew this was on the return route, maybe I should just take a short cut and head back now missing out the top loop. (Unbeknown to me at the time this would have shaved off a full 20 miles!)

More time passed, the sun was shining (told you it was just a shower), over 35 miles done but it still didn't look as if I was half way round - must be an optical illusion on the map. It'll be fine. But feeling a bit low on energy I had the only gel. I finally rounded the top corner of the route and was heading in the right direction, 42 miles done. Hmmm...

By now, the light was fading and the drizzle had started again. After 48 miles I passed through Offley and sparingly sipped at the very small amount of water left in my bottle. Bit late to be thinking about that shortcut option. Fortunately the route was quite well signposted so progress was quick but I was still losing light rapidly thanks to the dark rain clouds heading in. I stopped to put on the two tiny flashing LED lights - grabbing them had been the only good decision I'd made all day. Thankfully!

60 miles done, it was chucking it down, I was soaked and getting cold and had no idea how far was left. Even if there had been a shop or cafe open I didn't have time to stop for a hot drink or a snack. This was the most urbanised section of the route so it was a race to get home safely in the dark now. I had a vague memory that Harpenden was only 8 miles from Hemel Hempstead and a road sign confirmed this.

Now came the big decision of the day: do I ride back along the street-lit road, hoping drivers could see my tiny blinking lights and avoid me; or do I take the unlit NCN Nickey Line route on the old railway. It would be pitch black but traffic-free so the only dangers would be muggers, strangers, dog-walkers, random opportunistic serial killers, gangs of youths, potholes, glass and large items of debris across the path. Nickey Line it is then, still much safer than our roads at the moment!

It was a matter of survival by now so I didn't complete the section of the Cycleway back to Berkhamsted as the article says, taking the quickest way home instead. Seventy-something miles, 6.30pm, very wet, very tired and very, very hungry and thirsty. Truly one of the stupidest things I've done in a while but the important thing is, I survived to do it all again another day... (Hey, after 20 years of riding I should know better than this so don't think I've learnt my lesson or anything.)