Peace & Quiet

I did something I've never done before this morning. I woke up around 4am and was restless, my head spinning with a thousand thoughts. Suddenly the episode of Top Gear I watched yesterday popped into my head - Jeremy Clarkson had done a piece about how no-one just goes for a drive any more, so early in the morning he got up and hit the open road in a Mercedes.

Inspired by this I got out of bed and hit the open road on my ever so faithful Surly Cross-Check. It's been a long time since we rode together, too long. But no matter how long I leave her in the shed gathering dust, I can always rely on her for perfect gear changes and steady, reliable handling. So off we went into the damp, dull morning to do what was at one time a regular route, but is now almost forgotten.

There's a certain peacefulness at that time of the morning that I love but rarely get to experience, even missing out on it at 24 hour races this year. Yes I was at Twentyfour12 for a few days, but had to leave just after the race started on Saturday afternoon. It's around 2am at those events that the atmosphere shifts from an adrenaline pumped competition to a mellow camaraderie, every rider just trying to make it safely through the night into the dawn. For many it's also a unique experience, how many of your friends can you say you've sat drinking beer and eating bacon sandwiches with at 4am? How many of your friends have you seen sleep? It's not something that occurs in every day life and is actually a very personal and trusting moment.

Rolling almost effortless through the now familiar lanes, Surly was leading the way and my mind wandered back to the peacefulness of working night shifts at The London Studios. In a 22 story building bustling with thousands of people during the day it was rarely quiet - except during the early hours of the morning. I'd walk down the corridor to the restaurant on the 2nd floor that looked out over the South Bank of the River Thames; St. Paul's Cathedral and Blackfriars Bridge in the distance. For those of you that have ever watched the local London News it'll be a familiar view. London would be shrouded in serenity. I could stand for hours at that window in an oneiric state, looking out onto the world watching nothing go by. Once or twice I ventured down onto the stillness of the South Bank and just stood and watched and listened - I felt like I had the city to myself, I loved it. Too often I hear people say how much they hate London, when what they actually mean is they hate the people in London. Quiet and empty like that, London is simply breathtaking.

An hour later I was home, calm and peaceful. Last week was a strange week, but it seems so far away already. I think I might like bikes again...

10 Things Not To Do With a Broken Rib

After some extensive research over the last couple of months, all in the name of medical advancement of course, I've been compiling the definitive list of top ten things not to do with a broken rib. Some of these things have been stumbled upon in the course of everyday life, others have been pursued purely to benefit humankind so that others in a similar state of disrepair will not attempt such acts.

So, here it is, MountainBikeGirl's Top Ten Things Not To Do With a Broken Rib:
10) Get up, finish the lap and work for the following 2 days at a bike race - this will just extend the period of adrenaline fuelled painlessness and will ultimately compound the inevitable discomfort experienced when finally the 'morning after' arrives.

9) Paint the landing ceiling. This can and does in fact include painting any ceiling. I don't know why I thought painting the bathroom ceiling would be any less painful than painting the landing ceiling, or the stairwell, because it isn't.

8) Clear out the loft. Frustrated at not being able to paint anything or do DIY, it seemed like a good time to clear out the loft - because obviously pushing heavy boxes up through a small gap in the ceiling whilst hanging onto a ladder is totally different to painting the ceiling. I can now state with a certain amount of fact that these two seemingly very different tasks do actually involve similar movements of the rib cage and upper body muscle usage and both result in rib pain.

7) Rearrange the shed. Defeated in my attempt to clear out the loft, there was only one thing left to do - tidy up the shed, something I've been meaning to do for 18 months. Why would this be a problem? There's no reaching or stretching, hardly any upper body movement at all, it's just moving some old paint tins surely. No. My shed is full of bikes, boxes and cumbersome items. Moving anything, even slightly, involved a one-footed, unbalanced stretch to reach the intended item, whilst holding on to an unstable, precariously placed object exactly an arm and a fingernails length away. Once again this task was rapidly abandoned in the now familiar pose of right arm dangling and left hand holding rib.

6) Go Trail-Blazing. Quite often the event work involves finding new bits of trail or course to use. Nervous of riding anyway I was quite happy to get off and walk down anything I was unsure of. Sadly this was made all the more difficult by using a new set of pedals that aren't 100% compatible with SPD cleats whilst riding over rough, boggy grassland. I persevered until the fourth 'stuck in my pedals' fall, which also happened to be the first time I fell to the broken rib side, and called it a day. Sometimes, it's just not worth it.

5) Chopping down trees/machete work. Although I'm naturally a lefty, I'm distinctly more accurate with a machete when using my right hand. This means that a branch or sapling that would normally take 3 or 4 attacks using my right hand, takes about twice as many using my left - obviously resulting in more upper body work and more rib movement. So, do you take the chance and do less work with the more accurate but damaged side, or more work with the less accurate, intact side? Answer: play the "I'm just a girl" card and get a bloke to do it for you...

4) Lift metal crowd barriers onto the back of a truck. You'd have thought by now I'd have figured out the whole 'heavy-lifting, stretching, moving' combo was a no-no. It's amazing how an injury like this makes you aware of how much work your ribs and core are always doing.

3) Get a two-wheel drive quad stuck in 3ft of mud with no tow rope of any kind, in the middle of a forest, miles from the arena with no radios or mobile phones, just as it's getting dark with two escape options: a) I stay in the woods by myself in the dark with the quad while Paul takes the other quad to go and get help, or b) I drive the other quad back to get help, taking a route that either involves lying on the floor for 20 minutes with my hand up a gate post trying to undo the stiffest padlock in the world or taking a tricky off-road route and lifting two sets of Harris fencing out of the way. I tried both, after 20 minutes and huge amounts of shouting and swearing I gave up on the padlock and risked the unknown route. Over an hour later I arrived back with a tow rope and within 5 minutes the quad was free and we were all heading home.

2) Mow a 4ft high, uneven "lawn" covered in sticks and twigs with a flymo. Less of a flymo on this occasion, more of a liftmo - with me having to hold it in mid-air to get it to cut the grass whilst skimming over the covering of sticks left over from cutting down the 60ft Ash tree earlier this year. After 3 hours I'd managed to cut an 8ft square patch in the middle, the edges would have to wait, another few months wouldn't hurt and cutting the lawn twice a year is more than enough in my eyes!

And finally, the number one thing not to do with a broken rib:
1) Attempt to walk the full 180 mile length of the Offa's Dyke Trail in 6 days. Never has my body experienced such complete and utter shut down in a final and crippling statement of defiance. It had had enough. It was barely coping with what I'd been asking it to do for the last 5 weeks and this was just a step too far, literally. I'd made it through the first day, 30 miles carrying a full pack, but had started feeling dizzy and light headed towards the end. I put it down to not eating and drinking enough and was sure I'd be fine in the morning. I wasn't, nausea and blurred vision put an abrupt halt to the epic adventure after just 9 miles. I sobbed as Tony and the lads walked off into the distance and I promptly collapsed in a heap by the side of the road in Pandy - pale, shaking and weak with a throbbing pain in my rib. "So there!" my body screamed at me, "I tried to warn you, you wouldn't listen, and now look at the lengths you've driven me to." Fair point I suppose.

So there you have it, 10 things that you really, really shouldn't try and do with a broken rib, and if you do, don't say you haven't been warned. But I hope my research hasn't been in vain and if this blog post makes just one person think twice about attempting any of these tasks, then my suffering will have been worth it. Stay safe out there kids... ;-)

Absence

Well, I've been away a while and what a 7 weeks it has been! There have been plenty of visits to muddy fields for mountain bike races and venue recces, I've been up and down and backwards and forwards across the country, sent hundreds of emails and made dozens of phone calls to strangers.

I've started a new job; I've run my first mountain bike event and launched Britain's first 100 mile mountain bike race; I attempted to walk Offa's Dyke and failed miserably (more on that at some point) and had a sense of humour failure getting a quad bike stuck in 3ft of mud in the middle of nowhere at sunset.

Then there have been those surreal moments, like having an 8 hour conversation that finished at sunrise with somebody I barely knew. I spent a day at the Victoria and Albert Museum looking at 400 year old works of art; I saw Rowan Atkinson play Fagin (with a hint of Mr Bean) in Oliver! in Drury Lane, laughed a lot and sang every word of every song. I didn't go to Mountain Mayhem. That's right, I didn't go to Mayhem, for the first time in 9 years.

Sadly, the one thing I haven't done is ride my bike. Partly due to a rib that simply refused to stop hurting, but also I haven't had the time or motivation. I'm not in love with mountain biking at the moment. The fates have joined forces against me and I'm just not having a good year.

I've had this feeling before though, not just with mountain biking, but all the sports I've played throughout life and I find it's better just to give it a rest for a while and do other things. The feeling of wanting to go for a ride soon comes back. Trying to force a ride at this stage, knowing I'm not fit, that I'm not going to enjoy it and I'd rather be doing other things, is futile and will ultimately make me less motivated to ride and prolong the down time.

So it's a while longer off the bike for me, for no other reason than I don't fancy it. But as Dodger once said "I'll be back sooooon!"

The Big Black Mountain Challenge

There are ideas, and then there are 'ideas'. There are silly ideas, like deciding to get on a train to Penzance one day on a whim and riding from Lands End to John O'Groats; there are stupid ideas, like going off for a ride one afternoon in Northern Californian bear country with no food or water, no map, no idea where you're going and without telling anyone; there are dangerous ideas, like riding up Snowdon in the dark at 4am on a February morning wearing lycra in a snow storm; and then there are those ideas which are just wrong. There's no excuse for them, they're just wrong.

The Big Black Mountain Challenge on Saturday was one such idea. It started off badly and just got worse. I knew it was a stupid idea - having cracked a rib just 6 days before at round 2 of the BMBS in Dalby Forest, the idea of walking 45km over the Black Mountains in South Wales probably wouldn't be high on many peoples list of convalescing activities. But there's a bigger picture to think of here, namely The Great TO DO.

So Tony and I set off on our epic walk at 8am Saturday morning. It started raining. Then it started raining harder. Then the wind picked up. Then the wind almost picked me up! Walking along the first ridge out of Llanthony was made difficult by the 60mph wind and miserable due to the torrential rain. 4 hours later the rain finally stopped - for half an hour, just enough time to dry out before the rain came again. And the wind picked up.

The day continued in this cycle of misery for nine and a half hours until with sore feet, knee pain and an aching rib it finally came to an end. I can't remember ever walking in such horrendous conditions for so long. It really was an epic day and with the exception of Tony's witty tales, comments and then hysterical laughter (see video), not one I particularly enjoyed. But it was a necessary evil for the task ahead. On The Great TO DO I'd have 5 more days of this (well, the mileage, hopefully not the weather. Please God, NOT the weather!)

It was a useful exercise though and I learnt a few important things - one such lesson is that if you have a cracked rib and try and walk 45km up and down the muddy Welsh Mountains in the pouring rain and highs winds carrying a heavy rucksack, it's going to hurt. More importantly though, is it's going to hurt more the following day. But at least I had a whole day free and lots of 8 week old Bernese Mountain Dog pups to cuddle to cheer me up.

If you want to see some great photos of this epic, or a video of just how bad it was, take a look at Tony's blog - Tales From The Rock. Oh, and feel free to buy one of the 178 miles of The Great TO DO (if you want to know more, you'll have to use the link to visit the web page - it's worth it though!)

Go 'Til You Stop

The human body is an amazing thing. The capacity of the mind and body to work together just long enough to get through any given task will never cease to amaze me. The mind tells the body what it needs to do and how long for, gives it the strength to keep going, it even accounts for sleep (or sometimes lack of), factors in the temporary break in physical activity but keeps the body aware it hasn't finished just yet. The consequences of these types of events are never pretty though - often pushing yourself up to or beyond your physical limits.

Such an incident happened at the weekend. I was working on the second round of the British Mountain Bike Series up in Dalby Forest, Yorkshire. It was also a World Cup test event which added a slight bit of extra pressure to get everything spot on. I'd ridden the course first thing Thursday morning to get my bearings in the forest. To say it's the most technical cross-country course of the series is an understatement! Challenging and fun though and I was looking forward to actually racing on Sunday. Another practice ride on Friday on Olive the dekerf had me confident that I could clear all of the sections without a second thought.

The mistake I made though was not actually riding the course on my Ducati race bike that only turned up on Saturday morning. This was a grave error on my part and half way around the first lap on Sunday morning I hit the ground hard on a rooty drop-off section. After a long sit down I limped around to finish the lap, various body parts throbbing, and retreated to the back of my tent in pain. The ever insightful Martyn Salt approached and deduced very quickly from my abrupt single syllable answers to his concerned questions that I was far from alright but all I wanted was to be left alone to sob in peace and privacy.

A while later I reappeared in the arena with very few signs of the race ending dismount - just a graze or two on my legs. The large bruise on my hip, the graze on my backside, my throbbing right thigh and a pain in my ribs were invisible to the world. A limp gave it away slightly, as did the winces of pain every time I laughed or coughed. Still, there was work to be done for the rest of the event and I planned to just keep moving. Once I stopped, that would be it. And the anticipation of the morning after pain was motivation enough to get as much done on the day of the crash as possible.

Copious amounts of red wine helped me sleep on Sunday night. And here's the twist; Monday morning, although being the morning after, wasn't the end of the task. The plan had always been to stay on Monday and finish up. So I woke up a little stiffer than usual with some soreness in my neck, but actually rather surprised at the lack pain and ease of movement. Perhaps the crash hadn't been as bad as first imagined? Monday came and went and all the extra movement and walking hadn't made much of an impact on my aching bones. The task had finished, I had made it through, and made it home.

Tuesday is where it went wrong. Very, very wrong. My mind had finally told my body it could stop, relax and do what it needed to do to get back to normal. The excruciating pain I felt trying to get out of bed set the tone for the day - with every laugh, cough, sneeze and deep breath causing a sharp, almost unbearable pain in my rib. Even taking it easy didn't help as any core movement - getting off the sofa, bending down, standing up - causes a similar pain. I'm thinking cracked rib or muscle damage. Either way, there's no point going to hospital and there's nothing I can do except take it easy for a while. (And try not to laugh, cough, sneeze, breath too deeply or move.)

What a Week or Two

This time last week I was still in Offenburg, Germany, having spent the day watching the second round of the Nissan UCI World Cup cross-country mountain bike racing. There's hope that the UK will have a round next year in Dalby Forest so a BC contingent and a few others, including me, tagged along to have a look and pick up some tips.

As it was a last minute thing, I ended up driving the 500 miles through France on Friday and driving back on Monday. An interesting experience but not one I would want to repeat any time soon. The weekend and the racing was inspiring though - seeing the worlds elite, especially Monsieur Absalon, really is something to behold. And I somehow managed to end up writing a report and taking some photos for XC Racer. Published at last! And there's some more photos up on my flickr account. I think this my favourite one of eventual winner Julien Absalon. (Check out the quad muscles!!)

The rest of the week flew by with me playing at different jobs and trying to get through my long 'To Do' List. I haven't got very far yet.

And today I actually managed to ride Olive the Dekerf (and she was absolutely incredible once again) - I popped down to Swinley Forest for the Gorrick 100(km) enduro. It was the Gorrick 50 for me, just completing 3 laps of the fantastically fun 10 mile course. And incredibly I managed to win, although it wasn't a race, just a challenge. So let's say I was the first female to complete the 3 lap challenge - and received a rather nice trophy and Gore Bikewear cycling jersey for my efforts. At some point I'll write a race report.

Finished!!

Finally! After all these months and months and months of waiting for work to finally finish, it has! And I'm so happy and relieved and excited and cheerful and stress free and I'm really looking forward to my Summer now.

It's been an odd few days though, both before and after the leaving do (obviously, things never go smoothly around here). It started with a shopping trip on Thursday morning with Jodie to get new outfits for the leaving do Friday night. We both hate shopping, I really hate shopping in London, and to top it off it was raining. We were both doing surprisingly well until what will now and forever more be known at 'the Diesel incident'. I was trying on a pair of jeans in Diesel that turned out to be far too tight. Peeling the ridiculous tight pair of trousers back down my legs to my ankles I stumbled... out of the cubicle into the shop, banging my thigh on the handle. The young, male shop assistant looked stunned to say the least - and Jodie burst out laughing. I left in haste. I didn't really want a pair of jeans anyway.

Friday was the last day. I have to wonder how many P45s have been handed out amongst cheers, hugs, rounds of applause and popping champagne corks? Ours were. It was brilliant. Champagne. Lunch. Champagne. Lunch, again(?!) Champagne reception. Pub. Champagne. Champagne. More Champagne. (And I really have to say thanks to the guys at Green Media for a considerable amount of the champagne - there are some true gents out there ;-) I also have to say a really massive thank you to Nick Blackham, one of my managers, for being an absolutely top bloke over the last couple of months, and for some of the champagne on Friday. I couldn't have done it without him.

Not surprisingly, Saturday started with a hangover, and in fact ended with a hangover. (Note to self: don't drink that much champagne again in one day, it's just not worth it.)

Sunday should have been race day but I had a rather niggly shopping injury (see above) which meant my thigh went 'twang' on the first hill of the first practice lap at the first round of the Midlands XC series. So I spent the day soaking up the sun, with the odd bit of roving marshalling and course work.

Tomorrow I start my new life as an unemployed person, or should that be full time event organiser/consultant? Or maybe full time cyclists? Maybe I should call it a sabbatical? I'll have to have a think over the next couple of weeks whilst I'm finishing doing up my first house. It all feels really weird. I've been waiting for this for ages but now I can't get my head around it. Not that I'm going to have too much time to think about with the sheer amount of work I have to do over the next few weeks. I'm sure the time will fly by though. But, that time starts first thing tomorrow morning. Can't wait!!

I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here!

What a lovely weekend: relaxing mornings; fresh coffee; some tidying up; some DIY; tasty lunches; productive afternoons on the computer; freshly cooked, homemade dinners; stress free evenings listening to music answering emails and tidying up the desktop; early nights. This is a life I could get used to, and I so easily slipped into it. I even managed to get an Easter ride in and treat myself to a Cadbury's Buttons Easter Egg.

Just three more days of work left and then I can take it easy for the Summer. I should even have time to work through my things to do list whilst finishing off the house and taking long rides in the sunshine. I'm so excited to finally be finishing this chapter of my life and starting the next one - and I've only got a few days to wait!

Life is already better and care free. There was industrial action on the trains today and though I'd made a special effort to get to the station early, I still had to wait half an hour. I didn't care. The train was packed with Easter day trippers, I couldn't sit down. I didn't care. The exit barriers were too busy and I kept getting rammed in my ankles by pushchairs. But I just didn't care. Traffic in central London was chaos. Oh well, I didn't care. I sat at one set of traffic lights on Shaftsbury Avenue for almost 15 minutes - traffic wasn't moving and an ambulance was trying to get through, even though his lights were flashing and his siren was on, there was one female driver who would rather sit at the front of the queue doing her makeup instead of pulling forward out of the way and lose her hard fought place in traffic. At this point I did care. I wanted to find a large blunt object and throw it through the window, hitting her on the head and scarring her just above the beautifully mascara'ed eyes, so that she would never do her makeup in traffic again, and would pay more attention to the emergency services around her. (Not that I spent every second of the 15 minutes thinking about this you understand, I seem to have a gift for instantaneous creation of mythical scenarios - particularly if they're on the slightly evil side.) The rest of the day was delightful and care free.

Roll on next weekend!
(And yes, I did spend an afternoon on the sofa watching Annie. Admittedly it only just makes it into my Top Ten favourite musicals, mainly because of the annoying little ginger kid, but it has its good points and there are worse things than snuggling up on the sofa with a steaming hot cup of tea, an Easter Egg and a feel good musical.)

11 Bloody Days

11 eventful days. One evening I'm in London trying not to get drunk at what was the official closing down of ITV transmission at the London Studios. It was also the day I got served my redundancy which means I'll officially finish on the 17th of April. Thank God! Finally! I could feel the weight physically lifting from my shoulders and the stress draining from my body. It was fantastic.

Early the following morning I was on a train to Carlisle for a few days pottering about on soon-to-be mountain bike courses in the north. Kielder 100 is coming along nicely. The new Wild Boar 24 course has huge potential and then it was over to Whinlatter to help out at the Whinlatter MTB Challenge. This is where things took an unexpected turn for the worse. I had an accident involving a large, 25kg+ speaker crashing down onto the back of my head. Thinking there must be a bump forming I removed my hat and put my hand to the back of my head. It came back red. That's when the others noticed the blood running down the back of my neck. I've never had a serious head injury before and I have to say there's nothing more unnerving than seeing blood dripping from your own head - it's just not natural and all your instincts seem to be telling you to panic because there's something very wrong. Still, the week of rest probably did me some good.

Then it was off to Sherwood for the first round of the British Mountain Bike Race Series working with Martyn Salt for the first time. (He plays squash ya know.) I raced in the Masters category. I was rubbish. Maybe riding my bike over the winter would have helped. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Full race report coming soon on the race page.

So, 11 days, hundreds of miles, 4 forests, 3 hotels, 2 mtb events and one very large scar on the back of my head. At least life isn't dull. And the Summer is shaping up rather nicely now I finally have my redundancy.

Majorca!

This time last week I was sitting in the sunshine next to the harbour in Port de Pollenca with a cold beer in my hand. I'd just finished the final ride on my 5 day cycling holiday/training camp to Majorca - a 25mile out and back from the hotel to the lighthouse on the north eastern tip of the island. It turned out to be one of the toughest rides of the week; an undulating coastal road on a rough surface complete with a pitch black tunnel carved out of the rock that sent your eyes funny and has made more than one person lose their balance!


Rewind back to arrival day on Tuesday and I'd picked up my hire bike from one of the many bike shops that have sprung up over the island in the last decade. I'd gone for one of the T-Mobile Giant aluminium road bikes. The rest of the day was spent drinking in the hotel bar.

Wednesday was a wet start - not entirely what I was expecting. I'd been promised warm sunshine and perfect riding conditions, leaving the bitterly cold British winter behind to get some decent mileage in. We'd been told by the bike shop guys that usually the weather was better inland so we should take that option if the weather was bad. Half an hour later it had stopped raining but was still chilly and didn't brighten up all day.

Paul is familiar with the island so was playing guide to our merry band of 7 - Ickle Paul, Big Dave, Big Kev, Ickle Kev, Gaynor, Sally and me. My job for the week was just to hang onto the back of everyone else for as long as possible - I had mixed results but was pleased overall with my performance considering the distinct lack of bike riding I've done this year. I even managed some bursts of speed on the hills (I never knew Majorca was quite so hilly!) and a wee bit of time-trialling shenanigans.

So, four good days of riding and actually feeling like I've done beneficial riding. Evenings were spent stuffing our faces at the hotel buffet trying desperately to replenish some of the thousands of extra calories I was burning every day by riding at ridiculous speeds into headwinds with people far fitter than I. All in all a most enjoyable holiday and a superb way to get fit.


Day 1: 6 hours, 90 miles, 5000kcal
Day 2: 3h11m, 43 miles, 2400kcal, max hr 180bpm.
Day 3: 4h45m, 80 miles, 4000kcal, max hr 180bpm.
Day 4: 2 hours, 25 miles, 1400kcal.

Total for the week: 16 hours, 240 miles. (And my friends say my idea of a holiday is different to theirs - can't possibly imagine how...) More photos available on my flickr gallery as per usual.