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.

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.)

It's a Miracle

I mentioned a while ago about my knee injury. One year on, numerous visits to the physiotherapists, some sports massages and some visits to the chiropractor, and I still wasn't seeing much progress. So when I heard professionals using phrases like "your cartilage looks like crazy paving", "you've got the knee of a hard-playing 50 year old footballer", "there are ligament problems", alarm bells started to ring.

The problem is, these most recent diagnoses didn't tally with the original radiographers report done in January 2012, when I had the MRI scan. I'd also been getting conflicting information about how I should approach the injury, what was best for me and what I should and shouldn't be doing. All very confusing and having a massive impact on my life.

There was only one thing for it, a fifth opinion.

After much research and recommendations from friends and acquaintances, including a certain Mr Magnus Backstedt and Julian Winn (thanks guys) I decided to go and see Mr Jonathan Webb. Apparently he's the man when it comes to knees and cyclists, this was confirmed a few days after I booked the appointment when Nicole Cooke mentioned him in her retirement statement. Looking good so far.

My only reservation was that he is based in the Fortius Clinic in London, the same clinic the first consultant I saw is based. And I wasn't very impressed with him - the half hour appointment I'd booked in January 2012 took all of 5 minutes, cost £250 and all I got was a one line diagnosis. I tried for months to get some more information and clarification on cartilage fissures from him, but he was always off skiing or deer stalking in the highlands. Alright for some!

I explained all of this to Mr Webb's secretary on the phone and at the outset of the appointment he too addressed it and told me not to worry about the politics, the most important thing is that we figure out what's wrong. (A good start!)

Well, what a difference an hour makes. He examined both knees, did the usual tests and then we chatted. I asked questions, he answered clearly. I queried bits I didn't understand and pointed things out to me on diagrams. We had a look at the MRI scan, I told him about the 'crazy paving' comment and he said there's no evidence of that.

Basically, he said that aside from the fissure my knee is structurally fine, cartilage, ligaments and all. Plus the fissure didn't explain the pain and problems I was having anyway. At this point I think I started crying and apologised, he sat back in his chair and told me not to worry, "it's a very emotional subject for sports people" he said. (Himself being a former England rugby player.)

Apparently, my main problem now is a plica. He went into detail, but coincidentally it's exactly the same thing Nicole Cooke had. Obviously he did a quick op for her, snipped it out and six weeks later she won the Giro d'Italia. I don't have the budget of a pro cycling team. But I'm confident this is what I have and more importantly, believe everything he said.

Then came the best thing I have heard in a year: "It's fine for you to ride your bike as much as you want and whenever you want". I couldn't believe it. Really? "I can't stress enough that you are okay to ride your bike and you won't be doing any damage at all. It will hurt due to the inflammation the plica causes, but other than that, it will be fine."

So there we have it; slap on the ibuprofen gel before a ride and see how I go. If I can manage the pain then great, otherwise I'd better start saving for that operation. As I stood up to leave I could have hugged him! I didn't, by the way. I did in my head, but not in his office. Outside I took a deep breath and promptly burst into tears, again. I was so emotional I had to go and hide in a little pub around the corner and compose myself over a pint. What a day! Why didn't somebody tell me that a year ago?! I can't remember the last time I was this happy!

If you've got a problem, if no-one else can help, and if you can find him, maybe you can hire the J-Webb.

Doing BMX ...

I've had a mountain bike since the early nineties and before that I had the compulsory '80's BMX (and a worn out VHS of BMX Bandits). My skill level never progressed above skidding the length of the drive and briefly lifting the front wheel off the floor and I certainly never went near a BMX track. But that was all to change today!

Redditch has a new BMX track and for the price of a couple of pints you can hire a bike and a helmet. Spurred on by an evening of YouTube videos I was as excited as the Christmas Day when I was lead out into the backyard to discover my very first BMX leaning against the wall - pristine and with a complete set of silver pads and a large number board with a tiger emblem on.

Funnily enough BMXing is not quite how I remember it. As kids we would ride for miles on our BMXes on hot Summer days, up and down dale, across the fields, through the lanes and think nothing of getting up and doing it all again the next day throughout the entire summer holidays. Two decades and rather more pints later, things are slightly more difficult, with the first challenge being riding up to the start ramp. With some huffing and puffing I made it and sat on the start gate staring at the huge mounds of dirt in front of me.

In the videos these jumps didn't look that big. And at the start all the riders would sprint down the ramp pedalling for all they were worth, launching high into the air and gracefully clearing the whole thing. My approach was slightly more reserved. The first ramp was a bit of a kicker so I employed the one U-brake to take some of the speed off down the start ramp and rolled up to the top, pedalling across the table top and down the other side. It wasn't stylish, pretty or graceful and I'm certainly not going to be challenging for a London 2012 spot, but what do you expect from a female thirty something!

This steady approach continued around the rest of the track to get a feel for the tiny heavy bike, flat pedals, jumps, doubles, step-ups, berms and final rhythm section. Two minutes later, thighs burning and wheezing through the full face helmet, I'd completed a circuit of the miniscule track. For the next 10 minutes I sat hunched over the handlebars at the top of the start ramp until my body recovered from the exertion and then I headed off once more...

Half an hour later I'd completed 3 laps and was getting braver. My front wheel was lifting over the jump at the end of the start straight and I was completely leaving the ground at the top of the step up - though not actually clearing it. This resulted in some uncomfortable and twitchy landings, at one point finding myself completely detached from the bike, bar the handlebars, whilst it was on the ground and I was in mid-air; not my most graceful bike handling moment.

All of this continued for 45 minutes until I could ride no more - my legs were like jelly and my lungs couldn't take in enough oxygen during my fits of hysterical laughter to break down the enormous lactic acid build up. Time to hang up my helmet and head home, content in the fact that I'd spent a very enjoyable sunny afternoon trying something else new, rather than having a couple of pints down the pub. Can't wait for my next visit!

0-100 in 2 days

And that's still faster than my poorly Ford Focus. A broken cam belt has resulted in an enforced bike commute to work over the last couple of days. So what's wrong with that? Well, the fact it's 25 miles each way for a start. Now, bearing in mind I can count the number of miles I've ridden in the last two months on one hand, this was going to be quite a task.

Luckily I'd ridden the commute a couple of times during the summer, so I roughly knew a few routes. But those were on lovely summer evenings, on quiet country lanes, birds singing, sun shining, gently spinning along without a care in the world to get to work to start night shift. And similarly the ride home - fresh mornings, bright blue skies. You know how it is.

Skip forward a few months to yesterday morning - 8am and still a hard frost, a biting wind. Bike panic as I realise various things are wrong, can't find all my lights, leave 20 minutes late, the usual route is closed and the only other route I'm totally sure of is the longest one at 25 miles. End up time-trialling the last 8 miles at around 19mph and arrive at work late, cold, soaked in sweat, wheezing (having not yet totally recovered from a cold last week), and then find the shower is out of order. I should also mention that as I was unpacking my bag, I discovered my front light had accidentally been turned on at some point - it's relevant for later on in the story.

But it gets better. I was not looking forward to the ride home. It always takes slightly longer, closer to 2 hours as there's more up hill, add to this it being dark with my eta just after 11pm and having minimal lights with me, things weren't looking good. I have a feeling that just a few miles into the ride my rear light failed, I can't be sure exactly when but now I know why that car was beeping at me on the dual carriageway. Around half way through my front light started flashing. Oh dear, that's not good. This was also around the time I noticed just how many street lights are no longer in use...

I rode the next few miles on a mixture of extremely low beam and flashing mode, trying to squeeze as many miles out of it as possible, even resorting to totally turning it off when I did reach a row of street lights. With around 6 miles to go it failed completely. It was well passed 10pm by now, and the temperature had noticeably dropped - luckily it was a clear night with a bright moon that I was now using to light my way through the dark country lanes between Chesham and Hemel Hempstead. But with continuous passing traffic my night vision was shot to pieces.

Suddenly a revelation! I remembered the tiny keyring LED torch I had on my house keys, better than nothing right. For the last 5 miles I held it, like a shining beacon of safety in the pitch black. If a car approached from either direction I'd swing it side to side so it caught their eye. On the last, winding, bumpy downhill (usually descended around 30mph) I slowly crept down, one hand on the handlebars and brake, the other holding the light low enough so that it illuminated the white line at the edge of the road and my aim was to ride 6 inches to the right of it so I didn't crash into the bank or veer off course.

I finally arrived home, freezing and exhausted, some time after 11pm. It had taken me over two and a half hours to ride the 25 dark miles.

Today wasn't much better. My legs were heavier than expected after yesterdays ordeal and it took almost 2 hours to ride to work into a headwind in the pouring rain. This time I was prepared for the ride home though and had a total of 8 lights with me. Lit up like a Christmas tree I felt mildly safer but they're not roads I would choose to ride on at any time of day, never mind late at night. Almost home, and making reasonable progress, there was a familiar hissing noise... Lady Luck finally took pity on me and just before my tyre was unrideably flat, the slime sealant in the inner tube sealed the hole. Oh thank the Lord for slime filled inner tubes - a product my fellow riders have made a jibe at me for many times over the years. In this case they were my lifesaver. From there it was slow going, but the my lights lasted the distance and I made it home in one piece.

So after 100 eventful and difficult miles, my entire body aches - from my neck, shoulders, arms, hands, lower back, legs, knees and everything in between. But maybe it was the kick start I needed to get back on my bike. My theory is that tomorrow will be the true test. I've got the day off; I'm either going to spend the day on the sofa with tired legs wondering how to lose all the weight I've put on in the last 18 months, or I'm going to feel invigorated and can't wait to get out on my bike. Time will tell...

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...

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 Buzz of Live TV

Sometimes, I really, really love my job - I get a tingling feeling, butterflies in my stomach and a sense of truly being part of something special. It doesn't happen very often, but tonight was one of those rare occasions. Why? Because of Ant and Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway. Now, you may not like the show or the presenters, but in terms of real life, live studio, quality television production, it doesn't get much better than this!

The building and the studios take on an atmosphere; there's a buzz of excitement in the air, you can feel the magic of television. The "on air" lights flash red in the corridors which are ever so slightly clouded with smoke machine smoke, Studio 1 is in use packed to the rafters with a live audience, the scene dock is frantic with sets and props and costumes being moved, celebrities are being ushered around by an army of crew from dressing rooms, to make up, to green rooms and back again, Chris Akabusi and Jenny Bond are talking to Toyah Wilcox in the Luvvies Cafe and Take That have just wandered past. This is good old fashioned ITV Saturday night entertainment at its best - and some of the best in the business are downstairs in the studio making everything run smoothly. When ITV put their mind to it and tell the accountants and shareholders to sit down and shut up, they can actually produce some fantastic shows, just like the classic family favourites of old when they regularly got 15 million viewers on a Saturday evening.

Very little television is live nowadays, it's too expensive and too risky. But when a show like this happens in the famous London Studios, I'm proud to be part of ITV, you get the feeling you're working with true professionals who are passionate about what they do - this is what television is all about!

Sadly, tonight also marks the end of an era for me, and soon it will be the end of an era for ITV. My department was outsourced a couple of years ago to a company called Technicolor based in Chiswick and though a year overdue, the final channel migration happens in the next couple of weeks. This is the last day shift I will work here - I'm on night shift next week, and then it's all over. ITV's transmission has been here in the heart of ITV for more than a decade and I've been here 7 years. I'll be made redundant very soon and ITV will no longer be a complete television channel; it'll do everything except the thing that actually makes it work - the transmission.

I have to say I'm glad I'm leaving though. Moving the operation to a glass walled call centre on an industrial estate in West London is hardly the same as trundling across Waterloo Bridge every day, passing dozens of London landmarks and walking through the revolving doors of the London Studios (the ITV equivalent of the BBC's Television Centre) on the south bank of the Thames, having lunch in the canteen over looking St Paul's Cathedral. Every now and again pushing my way through the waiting paparazzi or crossing the red carpet of some awards show or other to get to work. It just won't be the same.

These are memories I will never forget. It's been a fantastic 7 years and I've had a great time with everybody I've worked with, I've met some real characters who have taught me a lot. It's been a pleasure to work with all of them (most of the time - working in such close proximity with the same people for so many years has caused the odd argument, think of us as the most disfunctional family you can possibly imagine and times it by 10, throw in some long hours, tiredness, PMT and some stress and you can just about imagine how tempers have flared.)

So good luck to everyone who's staying on at Chiswick, and good luck to everyone who will soon be joining the ranks of the unemployed during the worst economic crisis in living memory. I'm sure we'll all bump into each other again some day, TV is rather a small world after all...

A Pendulum Week

Things have either gone my way or they haven't this week. Monday couldn't have been better, everything fell into place with the perfect ease expected from life. Having a working bathroom makes life a hundred times easier - a day at work, back home on the turbo trainer for half an hour, jumped in the shower, cooked a hearty homemade meal whilst supping a glass of fruity red and settled down to answer a few emails and watch a bit of television. Life is good.

My perfectly effortless world was brought crashing down as quickly as I was Tuesday morning - yards from my front door I slid on a patch of black ice. One minute I was happily rolling down the hill towards the station on my folding bike, the next I was lying on the cold, hard road looking up into the foggy darkness somewhat unsure of what had just happened. I'd ripped a large hole in the left knee of my trousers and the right elbow of my coat. I returned to my house, changed my clothes, cleaned up the blood trickling down my leg, patched up the missing chunk out of my knee and set off once more - making it to the train station just in time to see my train leaving the platform. The next train was 15 minutes late. As was I.

The day improved but when I arrived home I still felt nauseous so relaxed and had an early night instead of going for a ride. Wednesday was long and boring and by the time I left work I was thoroughly fed up again. When I got home and opened my post I had a fine for not paying my congestion charge last week, £60. Thursday was also long and boring but spirits were slightly improved and the day went without incident. Things were looking up again.

On Friday I regained my cycling mojo - this had disappeared sometime just before Christmas. I had an excellent morning ride on my usual road loop; everything just seemed to click and I was happyily spinning along for a couple of hours, enjoying every freezing moment. Then my train was delayed, again (I'm going to have to stop writing about that as you can almost take it as a given these days) and work was chaos from the minute I started to the minute I finished. I didn't even have time to eat dinner! It was a relief to finally get home knowing I had the morning to myself.

I intended to pop out for another ride this morning, but I woke up with the tell tale signs of the beginnings of a cold due to being worn down, so instead I made a nice breakfast, some fresh coffee and planned a new route for my next ride. I was late for work (you know why...)

Gun For A Day...

just one day a month, that's all I'd want. Just a license to kill with a gun for one day... a month. And the world would be a better place by Summer. Why the outrageous statement you ask? This morning riding through London from work to the train station traffic was heavy. There were lots of buses in the bus lane so I was between them and normal moving traffic. I had two red lights on the rear, I was wearing high viz and reflective clothing. I had stopped at every red light and pedestrian crossing. I was going about my business according to the highway code.

The particular section of road I was on was full of nasty pot holes so I was giving the buses a wide berth. Then some idiot in a private hire cab decided he wanted to squeeze between me and the next lane of traffic - promptly clouting me with his wing mirror and knocking me into the fortunately stationery bus!

The lights at the next junction were red so I pulled up alongside the car and knocked on the passenger side window. He opened it up with a smirk on his face. "Excuse me, do you want to watch where you're going a bit more, you've just hit me with your wing mirror" I said. "Lucky I didn't 'it ya wiv somefin else then innit" he screached at me in an annoying, high pitched, '40-a-day', cockney accent. What sort of bloody response is that?! Obviously he was disappointed he'd only clipped me and was trying to kill me instead. "Are you fucking stupid?" I shouted back and rode on my way.

Who knows what his passengers in the back of the car were thinking, but it's not a car I would have liked to have been in for any length of time. I still don't understand his response - what an idiot. What was it supposed to mean? Understandably I was fuming! Mainly because there was nothing I could do to stop this fool driving dangerously through the streets of London with no regard whatsoever for cyclists! It's people like him that kill cyclists.

That's why I want to get in first. If this had been the day, I'd have quite happily pulled up alongside the car and shot him in the head. Idiots like that are better off dead, at least they can't do any damage to others that way. Shooting him was my first thought as I pulled up alongside. After he'd made the ridiculous remark I wanted to drag him from his car buy his scraggily, curly hair and beat the living daylights out of him with my bare hands - that would have been more satisfying. Apparently violence doesn't solve anything, but I'm sure in this case violence would have stopped the possibility of future injury to cyclists.

It took me the whole train journey to calm down. After that the day improved - which is fairly easy after that kind of start. I'm particularly looking forward to a relaxing hot bath in my oh-so-nearly-finished bathroom. And this glass of wine, my first sip in over a week, is tasting particularly good. There are some perks to working a week of night shift - for a while everything you do is just so much more enjoyable!

"You Got A Friend In Me"

This is my mate Jodie on Christmas Day at work (she was a bit tired):

I didn't realise until she said, but we've actually spent the last 7 Christmas Days together, and it will be the last one we spend together in this job. Says a lot about the relationships we form in our line of work I think, how many other people can say they've spent 7 Christmases with a work colleague? Cooked each other breakfast? Shared Christmas dinner?

We made a day of it again. We've been known to go a little crazy in the past, possibly cabin fever due to the amount both of us work over Christmas - it normally involves a dance session of some kind. It started whilst we were watching a music review of the year one Christmas, we danced our socks off until we couldn't dance any more! Everyone thought we were mad, but you have to do something to make the day feel a bit different, a bit special, try and enjoy it even though you'd rather be somewhere else.

It's become an annual tradition now and this year started with Radio 2 and by a funny twist the Disney song "You've Got A Friend In Me", very appropriate, followed by a listener request for "Nelly the Elephant". It soon moved on to a full on YouTube request session: crazy dance moves, a few twists and jives, lots of jazz hands and tears of laughter. In all honesty it was a pretty good Christmas Day, one of the best, just me and Jodie messing about again in fits of laughter. I'm going to miss my Christmas Dance Sessions with Jodie.

Dance like nobody's watching. Sing like no-one can hear you. Work like you don't need the money.

Merry Christmas!

I thought I'd get in nice and early, plus I'm bored at work. I do love Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and Santa Claus the Movie this morning was great; I'm trying to avoid the playout of Mary Poppins as I don't want to peak too early and I've got all day tomorrow to get through as well. Shouldn't complain, plenty of people have far worse Christmases than me, even though I spend the entire time at work, hardly strenuous (I basically do what everybody else will be doing on Christmas day - eating, drinking and watching TV, except I get paid).

The start to life as a 30 year old has gone fairly well, things are kinda falling into place, stuff is getting organised, diaries compared and plans discussed. There were a few stresses at the start (though technically I suppose I could class that as the last few hours of being 29, maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was life's way of getting it all out of the way before I turned 30.) But all is moving along in a jolly festive spirit - long may it continue I say!

So, the first event I'm organising is sort of out in the public domain now so there's no turning back. There are big plans afoot and The Slick n Knobbly is just one thing I'm involved in next year. Obviously everybody is invited, the more the merrier! (And yes, this is a blatant plug, but it's my blog and I can write what I want ;-)

Hopefully my blog will become a bit more interesting again and a bit more bike orientated, otherwise I'm going to have to start reminiscing about the good old days of adventure and stupid ideas. (Steve, what happened to all the stupid ideas anyway?!)

Anyway, have a very merry christmas everyone!

S x

30 Not Out

So it's my birthday tomorrow. I'll be 30 years old. To be honest, I never thought I'd make it this far, too many stupid, drunken, risky decisions as a teenager and student. But I somehow always managed to come out of it smelling of roses and stumbled through a series of tricky, sometimes dangerous situations. And here I am.

And just lately I've been thinking quite a lot about where exactly that is. I'm 30 years old. I'm single. I've never had a proper relationship. Most people I consider friends don't even know it's my birthday tomorrow (for many years a lot of people didn't even know my surname, I was just 'Sara'.) And in a couple of months I'll be out of a job during the worst economic crisis the world has ever seen. I find myself waking up in the morning and wondering what the bloody hell I'm doing, where am I going and what's the point of it all.

I think about those questions a lot. I've had discussions about them with far off 'friends', sometimes even strangers. And however negative and depressing and self-pitying this sounds, it's actually not. I'm 30 years old but everybody says I don't look it, I certainly don't act it. I'm young, free and single (and a terrible flirt!) I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whomever I choose! I'm headstrong and independent. The world is my oyster.

I have friends all over the country and all over the world and over the years these have been whittled down to the ones that understand me. They know they're only going to get a phone call or an email once every 6 months, they know they won't get a birthday card, they're aware of the fact I just may turn up in their town one day and send them a text telling them to put the kettle on. And they accept it. They know that's me. I don't have any hangers on. All of the people I currently consider my friends are true friends no matter how infrequently we speak. They will be my friends for life. And just recently I've started to realise the importance of these people - Gina, Em, Mike, Miggy, Tom, Davies, Jodie, Chris, Dan, Steve, Tony and a few more. Friends are good, I know that now. (I'm normally a fairly quick learner but this seems to have taken me a while - better late than never though.)

As for the rest of it, I love my life. At times it's not been easy, the early years were difficult. But the way I look at it, everything I have ever done, everything that has happened to me, everybody I've met and every experience I have ever had, good and bad, has led me to where I am now, to this very point in time and made me the person I am today. And I have to say it all feels pretty good. 2008 has been a difficult year, the most stressful I've ever had in fact. But I'll be leaving 2008 as a better person. I've been coasting for far too long, never really challenging myself, and now a convergence of events has given me the kick up the backside I need.

Tomorrow feels like the start of a whole new life. 2009 is completely unknown and my life is going to change dramatically, but I have the opportunity to make it one of the best years ever. I could wake up tomorrow and change anything or everything, the same as anybody can any time they want to. The first day of the rest of your life is probably a good time to do that obviously, though I wonder if you have to do it first to realise it's the first day of the rest of your life. Hmm, I'll have to ponder on that one... a chicken and egg scenario by the look of it.

And there we have it, my reflection on the first 30 years - in short, it was brilliant. (God that sounds weird saying that; 30. And I know some of you are feeling really old now, I met a lot of people who read this blog back when I was a teenager!) I'm really looking forward to the next 30, I get butterflies in my stomach just thinking about next year. So many opportunities, so many things I want to do - and there's really nothing stopping me. Nothing at all. You can't see it but I have a cheeky smile on my face at the mere thought of the possibilities.

Tomorrow is a whole new world and I can't wait to go and enjoy it with you all!

Motivation

Sometimes I find it hard to get out of bed and go and do something. This morning I found it hard not to get into bed and do nothing (the first night shift will do that to you). I didn't last long. An early start yesterday and a trip across the country for a meeting with Epic Cycles in Tenbury meant by mid-morning today I'd already been awake for 30 hours. Sleep was needed. Sleep is good.

It seems I'm not the only one lacking motivation at the moment either. Work is in chaos and showing no signs of improvement. I won't go into full details but the brief background is my department was outsourced last year and a plan started to relocate in June 2008 - missed that deadline. The relocation to Chiswick involves working somewhere nobody wants to work, doing a job nobody wants to do, working for a company nobody wants to work for. So much so that in this current climate of economical turmoil and unemployment, most staff are actually thinking of leaving. (They're offering us a 'finders bonus' if we recommend a new member of staff for God's sake!)

So with this in mind, and the fact that staff morale is similar to the FTSE100 (just when you think it can't go any lower, it drops a few more points) and stress levels at an all time high, (8 months ago we had 30 engineers running the place, now we have about 12) this was a scenario that came about the other day:

- The Vice-President of the company was standing with a group of managers at the new location. Deadlines are whizzing by like traffic on the M4 outside - you know it's there but it comes and goes without any real impact. A new deadline is approaching and, remembering everything I've just said, the VP comes out with these motivating, inspiring, pearls of management wisdom, "If we don't get this place up and running in two weeks, we're pulling the plug!"

Apparently the minor management were seen giggling in the corner and the staff let out a loud cheer; the biggest improvement in morale and staff solidarity that has been seen in many months. With this renewed vigour for the ailing project, they then went and put the kettle on...

I do love the people I work with sometimes.

Enough now... no really

September has not been my month. Whilst some of my friends have been clocking up hundreds of miles, having fantastic holidays and generally enjoying themselves. I haven't. It started well with a committed and determined start to a 30 in 30, and at times there were glimpses of the good life, but it didn't last for long.

My boiler was fixed after 5 visits from the gas man and 6 weeks without hot water. My radiator is leaking.

I sorted out the insulation in the loft. The fuse blew on the lights downstairs. The hallway light blew on the upstairs ring main - either downstairs lights with no lights as I came in and out of the house, or upstairs lights and cooking by the light of the hob.

My week of convalescing in the Lake District was all very pleasant with a good mountain walk or two; in dreary weather. My only ride of the week resulted in the biggest crash I've had in many years. A big, hard, fast crash. Bruised and scraped from my right shoulder down to my right knee, including my ribs. A good chunk out of my right elbow and a lump the size of a tennis ball with a rainbow coloured bruise on my hip. I hit my head and cracked my helmet. Fortunately Hyacinth, my Maverick ML7 only suffered superficial damage to her handlebars and brakelevers and a slightly buckled rear wheel. Fortunately her fall onto the jagged rocks was broken by my stunned and helpless body. Lucky her. I gave the Grizedale Mountain Bike Challenge a miss the following day.

Traffic on the way home on Sunday night was dreadful so I got back in the early hours of the morning to cram in a few hours sleep before an early start to some long days at work. A heavy schedule over the next few days, coupled with a repairing body, the continuing course of antibiotics and the damp from sleeping in a tent all week gave me a wrotten cold. I still have a wrotten cold.

On the way home from work on Friday various pedestrians, cyclists and drivers seemed determined to kill themselves and/or me, by completely ignoring every single line of the Highway Code and their common sense. My journey time home was doubled by roadworks and heavy traffic on the M1.

Ah, my front door by midnight. But no hallway light. Time for a shower. The shower head flew off and hit me on the forehead. I sighed. A deep, shoulder-dropping sigh. I looked around for someone to give me a hug, one of those "don't worry, everything's going to be alright soon petal now dry your eyes and be a big brave girl" hugs. There was nobody there. I sighed and put my head under the pathetic dribble of warm water that was coming from the remnants of my shower head.

One more long day at work and then a day off. I think I'm just going to curl up on the sofa and try not to hurt myself, break anything or burn the house down.

Bring on October, please...

Urban Cycling Stories

I caught an episode of The Montel Williams Show this morning, (an American chat show on ITV3 for the majority who have probably never heard of it - and it's my job to watch it ok!) and as a picture of two women on mountain bikes was shown, I turned the sound up. We went into the commercial break and I noticed the theme of the show was "When Animals Attack", hmmm, this could be interesting.

When I first went out to ride in California I heard a horrific story about a mountain lion that had attacked some cyclists on the trail - this couldn't be the same story could it?

Back to the show and Montel was talking to Anne. She'd been out riding with her friend Debbie one day on their local trails somewhere in America. Anne had ridden ahead slightly and came across a man who had stopped in an inconvenient place on the trail and was holding a second bike. He asked Anne if she knew whose bike it was because he'd just found it lying by the side of the trail. Anne thought he was joking and that his mate must be somewhere in the bushes answering a call of nature, and rode on.

A hundred yards on, just around the next corner, a 120lb mountain lion pounced on the back of Anne and bit down on her head and cycling helmet, dragging her to the floor. The cat was constantly readjusting its grip and grabbed onto Anne's cheek, tearing it partially off. At this point Debbie came around the corner and heard her friend's screams. A 'tug-of-war' ensued, as they described it, with the lion trying to drag Anne down into the gorge by her face, and Debbie desperately clinging onto her legs! Some more people came to help and threw whatever they could find at the cat to get it to let go. Finally it did, and ran off.

Anne was air lifted to hospital, and as the helicopter took off the pilot spotted another body, the owner of the abandoned bike. The mountain lion was hunted down that night and shot, only to find that it had attacked and killed the other rider, Mark Reynolds, earlier on that morning before the attack on Anne.

It's easy to forget just how easy we have it riding bikes in the UK sometimes; apart from our own stupidity and maybe the odd nutter, there's nothing we really have to worry about. I often pop out for a ride, especially in the summer, in shorts and t-shirt with just a water bottle and a basic tool kit safe in the knowledge that my life isn't in danger.

I'm sure this complacency will bite me in the arse one day. It's come close a few times (especially the Downieville incident a few years ago!) and for a while I will make sure I take food, a long sleeve top, first aid kit, space blanket and other sundry essentials with me on every ride. A dozen rides later and I'm back to the minimum.

I'm heading out to California again in a few weeks so this was a poignant reminder to retrieve a few survival essentials from my winter walking rucksack and throw them in my Camelbak. You never know what might happen...

Balance

I'm a great believer in the natural balance of life. Similar to a commercial that was on TV a few years back, I believe that for everything good that happens, something equally bad will happen; for every high in life, there will be a low of equal proportion.

My life is full of fantastic experiences and exquisite moments of fun and happiness, there's never a dull moment. But it did take me a while to figure out that every time I was having loads of fun, at some point this would come crashing down and plummet to some very low places; 'heading for a fall' is a phrase I often hear. Still, you can't have the highs without the lows, so I wouldn't change it for all the world.

Anyway, I've digressed slightly and this philosophy stuff can all get a bit heavy. But the theory is also carried over to intelligence - for every moment of genius, there follows one of equal stupidity: my boiler broke down during the week and I didn't have any hot water. I called some plumbers and heating engineers and after 2 days none of them had returned my call. So I looked up the problem on the internet and within 15 minutes I'd saved myself a call-out charge and fixed the boiler. I also bled the radiators and balanced the system. Oooh, look at me! I was very pleased with my new found plumbing skills and carried a rather smug grin for the rest of the week.

Fast forward a couple of days to the morning of Saturday the 19th of July (i.e. today) and I jump in my car early this morning to drive to work. Turning out of my road I can't quite remember whether I normally take the main route or the windy back route to the A41 when I drive to work. As I drive down the road and join the A41 dual carriageway, the reason why I can't remember which route I normally take suddenly dawns on me: I don't actually take the A41 to work. I take the M1, which is on the other side of Hemel Hempstead. I was going the wrong way!

All local road knowledge abandoned me and it took a good twenty minutes to find the M1 and get on my way to work. I smiled to myself with the calm realisation of what had happened; my moment of boiler genius had been equalled by getting lost half a mile from my house and going the wrong way to work.

Balance has been restored.

A Perfect Bank Holiday Monday?

So another bank holiday rolls around (aren’t there a lot in May?) and the dilemma of what to do. Actually it’s more like a quad-ilemma but I don’t think that’s a word, so we’ll go with double dilemma for now.

Option a) Cancel your leave and have a long lie in followed by a relaxing day at work with no office staff or managers around, take it easy, watch some TV and drink as much free tea and coffee as you can manage, get home around midnight then have another day off.
Aha? Interesting. It’s a possibility but it is still work. And it does mean travelling into central London on a Bank Holiday – there’s probably engineering works on the train line, replacement bus service, tourists everywhere etc etc and I hate all that!

Okay, option b) Don’t cancel your leave. Have a long lie in followed by a relaxing day on the sofa, eat what you want, watch want you want and listen to the rain pounding on the window from underneath your cosy, warm duvet. Just generally kick back, relax and take it easy.
Oooh! Like your thinking. Now that does sound like a good way to spend a Bank Holiday, because I am still ill obviously…
Well, obviously…
And that sounds like just the kind of thing I need – but I’ve been doing that for the last couple of days really and I’m a bit bored of it now.

I see your point, so how about option c) Go on a mountain bike holiday to the lovely Swiss alpine town of Verbier – take in the fresh mountain air, stay in a luxury chalet, drink lots of ice cold beer, ride great trails all week and just admire the views.
Hey! Now you’re talking! Just one problem – there was a slight error on my part when booking the flights and now they’re going to cost a fortune and I can’t really afford it at the moment because I do have a new bike to pay for…

Fair enough. So option d) Get up at 6am, drive 100 miles in the pouring rain and spend the day doing building trails on a steep, slippery, muddy hillside, hacking through shoulder high bracken and thistles, getting scratched by thorns, stung by nettles and give yourself blisters on your thumbs whilst desperately trying to stay upright in the thick mud and the driving wind and rain. Get soaked to the bone, covered in dirt, freezing cold and totally wear yourself out.
Hmmm…
What?
Well apart from the obvious…
You mean the early start, the mud, the rain, the cold, the wind, the manual work, the blisters, the thorns, the nettles, the slimy bugs…
Oh yes, I’d forgotten the slimy, nasty little creatures, well remembered…
Thanks, so where were we? Oh yes, nettles, the slimy bugs, that nasty little drip that drops off your sodden woolly hat and down the back of your neck. So apart from those…
Yes, apart from those… Oh, arse!
What?!
(sigh)I’ll get my car keys, you fill the thermos, it’s going to be a long, long day…

Back to Earth with a Bump

All good things must come to an end; it was inevitable that after my great week playing about on bikes, that it would end. In fact it came to an abrupt halt.

I read somewhere not so long ago that Noel Edmonds believes the universe is constantly trying to give us exactly what we want, but we either ignore the signs, don't listen or fight against it. I've always be someone who goes with the flow and happily cruises along through life taking whatever it throws at me and not really worrying too much about anything else. This may be one of the reasons why I enjoy life so much - I have no inclination to fight against the universe and it obviously appreciates this and leaves me alone. Most of the time...

Now and again however it gives me a little reminder that it's still there, watching, waiting for me to start a rebellion. There was a small skirmish on Sunday but my pathetic attempt at a power shift was rapidly overthrown. I should have known. All the signs were there, I just didn't see them.

It was the Forest of Dean Classic sportive and I'd decided to drive over to Monmouth at 6am as a last gasp attempt to get fit for the Tour of Ireland. (I know, I know, it's far too late to gain any fitness but at least I'd give my legs a spin and I had to feel like I was doing something.) Anyway, 6am, the sun was shining. Pah, what do the weathermen know - rain my foot! I picked up my kit bag and as I loaded into the car I felt a sharp pain shoot across my lower back. Ow! Sitting in the car was uncomfortable to say the least. But I persevered.

Somewhere near Oxford it started to rain. I turned on the windscreen wipers and they started smearing an inch wide strip right in my eye line. After a few miles I had to stop to clean the wiperblade and as I leant over to pull it up I felt another sharp pain in my back. This was going to make it a very long and painful day. I looked back up the road and thought about going home. But no, I persevered.

On the A40 approaching Birdlip there was a huge black cloud somewhere over Gloucester and three, large, consecutive lightning strikes! Now if that isn't a sign from a higher power to turn around now or face certain doom, then I don't know what is. But still, I persevered.

I finally arrived at Monmouth and set off on the 85 mile route. Just minutes into the first of the fourteen climbs my heart rate was unusually high and after riding out of the saddle for a few minutes around one of the hairpins my shoulders went dead; a sensation I usually only encounter at the end of a long ride on a steep climb. Being a finely tuned athlete (ahem!) I knew there was something very wrong, and persevered...

Just a couple of miles later my recurring knee problem started. For some reason I thought I'd be able to ride it off the way I had done on the last couple of rides. After 15 miles it wasn't easing. After 20 miles I was dropping into the lowest gear on any incline so I could spin up rather than having to put pressure on my knee. At 25 miles I was wondering which was the shortest way back to the car. At 30 miles I was standing in a torrential downpour, removing my number and getting directions home. I quit. I was beaten. But the worst was yet to come...

I started the drive home and soon got tired. I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open. I was feeling slightly unwell by this point and even though I clocked up 46 miles on the bike, hadn't felt like eating anything. Traffic was slow and it was taking longer than usual. I pulled over to take a snooze, jumped out of the car and promptly threw up. Another deluge started as I was standing by the car.

So there I was, standing on the side of the A40 in torrential rain, throwing up, with a bad back, a sore knee, a headache and the first signs of flu. The universe had reasserted its authority without any room for doubt about who's boss and it's not a theory I will be testing again in the near future. From now on just stay quiet, watch, listen, and the universe will take care of the rest. Trust me!

Trying to be a bad day

Still buzzing from Sundays surprise podium place, Monday was a day off to relax and enjoy the sunshine. Or so I thought. My mobile phone had been covered in coffee Sunday morning and had stopped working. It had been on the radiator all night in an attempt to dry it out. It still wasn't working and my mobile phone company were less than helpful. I tried to check the internet for tips to sort out the problem, my internet connection was down as well.

I made myself a cup of tea and a good breakfast and settled on the sofa to watch a bit of daytime TV - my digital receiver had packed up. This was a technological conspiracy. I know I rely on my mobile phone a lot, but this was getting ridiculous - my mobile phone breaks and the rest of my house throws a hissy fit.

So, DTT box unplugged I set to work on the internet connection. Some fiddling and frantic searching for long forgotten passwords and it was up and running. Yes! My website was down. No! More internet faffing with passwords and the website was back up. Yes! Technology 2, me 1. No! I was still losing the war against the machines.

I went to do something more basic that didn't involve anything with a chip in it - a bit of DIY. I started assembling the flat pack set of drawers for my bedroom. After rounding off the ends of two Philips screwdrivers, one of which was an electric one, I was reduced to assembling the furniture with a freebie multitool from the front of an issue of MBUK magazine! My hand was getting sore and sweaty and as I put pressure on one particularly tough screw I slipped and a flathead screwdriver on the other side of the multitool went into my palm! I jumped back in shock and banged my head on the corner of the chimney breast.

It was definitely not my day. Inanimate object 1, me 0. Time to quit while I still had some dignity and drown my inadequacies in the bottom of a large wine glass. It was at this point that trusty, reliable humans stepped in to save the day.

I received an email from an old university friend, Niall Varley, who'd googled me and found this website. I haven't heard from him for at least 5 years, but hopefully we'll get to meet up in Ireland when I'm there in May. Maybe technology isn't all that bad after all. Then some great news I'd been waiting for from another friend in Canada. I'm not going to say too much about that just yet, it'll be a surprise! But I am very, very excited. I went to bed happy (with a throbbing head and sore hand, you can't have everything I suppose.)