Ups and downs (and not all of them on a bike)

You know, some weeks are crazy. Like at one and the same time the most amazing and exciting and the most awful and depressing.

Just had one. On the one hand, we've had to come to terms with the fact that our first, much-loved, Makepiece shop just isn't working in the premises it moved to at the end of last year and we have to close it down, with everything that entails.

On the other, I was told that I've won a trip to do the Tour of Flanders sportive and the perfect bike for it: a BMC Granfondo, on which to do it. It's a massive challenge which will be an an amazing experience.

I can't really describe the inside of my head. Like the constant pulsing of a lighthouse beam, slowly rotating between a million lumens of excitement and a rather deep, dark sadness. Then back again. Round and round. Happy anticipation keeping me going through the worry and the stress.

This contrast is rarely so stark but it's a heightened example of what cycling does for me. When things are good, it makes them better. When things are difficult and life is a challenge, it helps me rise to it.

I get onto my bike and it takes me over the hills, one pedal stroke after another. Almost literally it takes me outside of myself. I get to look at new things and peep beyond the valley's rim. And when the rain is coming down sideways and filling my shoes, I look down at my still pedalling legs and it makes me giggle at the nonsense of the endeavour. Fighting my way up the gradients, sweeping down the hills. Cycling makes everything in me work together - head, heart, lungs and legs.

It's particularly noticeable on my mountain bike, where the trail takes over my mind. Everything is concentrated on picking the line, keeping poised, holding, pushing, pumping the bike maintaining momentum over rocks and drops, taking the turns, looking looking looking forward.

The trail winds ahead of me and that's the challenge I have to accept. Get it wrong and it may hurt. Or worse. It teases my brain like a puzzle of roots and rocks. I look at the jumble in front of me and something inside, something unconscious and brave takes over and orders it, and orders me forward. Push my wheel over here, roll down the sliver of smoothness I can just about discern. Hit that ledge and keep moving, lift over that step without pause and onwards. Look round the bend, turn my head and drag my body into that look and the bike will go. There are no worries here, no niggles, no concerns. Everything extraneous to keeping this bike on this line is excluded. And as the spell works, it unlocks elation. The exhilaration of speeding downwards combined with enormous satisfaction of a job well done.

And even back in the real world, that satisfaction lingers. So even in this crazy week, when things are really pretty grim, there's a bike, a reason to get on it and the prospect of long roads, cobbled climbs (a different technical challenge) and a view quite outside the valley. What more does a girl need to get through?

On the Koppenberg in 2012

Oi, Cinders, you shall go to the ball...

I like the Belgian Spring Classics. They have the air of bike carnivals blended with the whiff of cyclocross style grit. Fiesta meets sideways rain. We've spent happy evenings huddled round the laptop watching the pros slogging it out over narrow lanes and brutal cobbles lined with enthusiastic fans allowing them just enough room to weave their way through.

For me though, the absolute best thing is that mere mortals can ride the route - in their thousands - the day before. A group of us rode the Tour of Flanders in a slightly abbreviated version (140km) in 2012. It was absolutely ace. The route took in rural lanes joining farms and villages, threaded through with sections of cobbles, small towns with cheering bystanders on the steeper climbs and huge feed stations dishing out handfuls of waffles, honey cake and bananas to thousands of smiling cyclists. We finished far more quickly and easily than I expected and I was already looking forward to trying the full 240km version, which begins much earlier in the morning and takes in 100km of Belgian plains before hitting the fabled cobble climbs.

A year passed and the logistics evaded us. But we swore we'd plan better for 2014. Chipps prevaricated as we debated the length. He's not a fan of the early start and petitioned to do the 140km version 'but faster'. I wavered, 100km of dual carriageway might not be quite as fun on a bike as I envisaged. Then came the news from the diary department. Chipps would be travelling for work on 5 April. And indeed also a week later when our alternate plan - the Paris Roubaix sportive - was taking place. I may have pouted, ever so slightly.

I started trying to work out whether there was a reasonable way of getting there on my own. The ferry from Hull as a bike passenger? Driving is tiring and the car ferry expensive for just one. It seemed to need quite a lot of planning and my life is busy.

One evening I was cooking and Chipps was on the internet. "Look, you could win a trip to do the Tour of Flanders with BMC". It was a long shot. I thought he was teasing me. And I scrolled through the pages and pages of entries. Yes, a very long shot.

Then it occurred to me that there were no women applying. Surely no bike company would make a competition for men only? I was horrified at the thought and started scrolling again. Look, there's one (after a few clicks). Oh, no, she wants it for her husband. Why were there no women applying to go on this fantastic ride? More scrolling before I found a single, solitary female. OK one, maybe more but my scrolling finger had run out of steam. The sample I'd taken just wasn't good enough. I thought I'd better apply just to make sure that BMC knew that there were girls out there who'd love to do the ride.

So we spent the evening digging out photos and crafting 'pick me, pick me' into 150 well-chosen words sprinkled liberally with enthusiasm for all things bike and Belgian. And I went to bed happy. I didn't think for a second that I'd win, but it was a nice thought. So I dreamt of cobbles.

In the morning it was apparent that the computer had hung and the application hadn't gone through. Life got busy and I finally remembered to resubmit the (now forgotten and must be rewritten) paragraph on the 14 February. What a fine Valentine's evening we had! You can see it here.

I got an email from Steven Jonckheere at BMC the following Wednesday asking me to call him. It was Chipps' birthday. I think I emitted several small inadvertent squeals whilst trying to articulate how delighted and honoured I was to be chosen to do this ride and act as an ambassador for BMC.

Then I spent another hour staring at the internet looking at the BMC Granfondo, the bike I seem to have won to ride the Tour of Flanders. An amazing carbon dream of a road bike developed by mountain bikers to take the rough with the smooth. Feather light and undoubtedly lightening fast. Shiny electronic gears I'd never even dreamt of. And disc brakes like all the best bikes.

That evening we went for a birthday meal with friends. I may have mentioned it once. Or, more likely, several times. Oops. Excitement is difficult to contain! It's a good job that Chipps is a kind, tolerant and supportive man (and only a tiny weeny bit envious).

BMC has put together a group of six riders to ride this event. A diverse bunch. Some of us look extremely hardcore (and fast) whilst others look like they enjoy the lighter side of cycling. Hailing from six different countries and three continents. Oh, and whilst I am the only Brit, I'm not the only girl. Credit to BMC for choosing such a varied group, I hope we'll be show off your bikes well.

So, I'm off to the ball after all. Better get some training in or my glass slipper will come off and my bike might turn into a pumpkin.

Time on a bike

Whenever I see a group of mountain bikers consulting a map, I can't contain myself. It's as if they exist to unbridle my enthusiasm. And once unleashed, it sets off a verbal roller coaster ride round the Calder Valley.

We found a few lost souls trying to follow a guide book at the weekend. They'd managed to loop back to their starting point and were engaging in rereading the instructions and twisting the map in figures of eight to see whether it would better match the landscape upside down, or on its side, or in any way at all.  To release them from their game of map twister, we offered to set them on their way. And take in one of our doorstep trails.

It's a Tarmac winch which had their full sussers grinding - whilst our cx bikes seemed like a better choice. Briefly. The packhorse slabs start at the end of the road and continue on up, brooking no obstacle. Designed for rugged Galloway ponies with low gears and plenty of suspension.  I couldn't match their agility on my ' cross bike, not quite able to lift it up kerbs when the track was particularly steep and uneven. On the way down, my two wheels picked their way delicately, tracing the line of least granularity. Slivers of turf, sandy run outs between the steppier sections. We were way behind our new companions and their bouncy two wheeled steeds. Until one broke her chain. And another foundered on the lip of a newly appeared drainage ditch, so new we'd not known to warn him of it.

When the third confessed to an absence of rear brake they took a group decision to call it a day. It seems my enthusiasm may have been a little over the top.

Having broken the visitors we commenced Stanny's Road Loop of Doom ( taking in the sheep first). That's the nice thing about the CX bikes. They are entertainingly sketchy in place of mountain bikes and nicely unassuming on the road but they segue between the two without a murmur.  We put over fifty miles into our legs and it was fun but equally we could have dicked around the valley playing at mincing our favourite descents in the name of hospitality. Yes, next time we'll do that.

Re Cycle

So, it's a been a while.

Last year I kept pedalling but there was something about the car crash circumstances of my business Makepiece that stopped me writing. The short version is that we planned to open a second store, found out the day after our lease was signed that we had to relocate our first store within Hebden Bridge. Cue trying to launch one and move another shop simultaneously. More work and worry than I could describe, conceive of, or even do.

My Three Peaks preparation was hampered. I did what I could (a 40 mile commute whenever possible) but the lack of depth in training showed. A couple of minor mechanicals  led to me missing my food drop at Ingleborough, bonking on Whernside and then, brain mashed and panicking, desperate to get down to food as quickly as I could, being blown off the bike at the summit. A ruptured AC joint and a whole lot of woe ensued.

I did manage to take a break from the prescribed three months off the bike for my holiday in the Pyranees with Chipps with the amazing Altitude Adventure. Naughty, and I did feel like making a pact with the devil not to come off on the damaged shoulder. As long as I didn't fall on it, the physio said, riding wouldn't make it worse.  I reckoned it hurt anyway so I might as well take in the views and ahem, the technical trails.

Amazing how the brain teasing trails captured my mind completely - blanking out the pain and also the mind-melting worries about the fate of my business.

The unsigned pact was that I would go home and behave myself, staying out of trouble until my shoulder got the all clear in December. Which I (more or less) managed.

The year has turned and I've been slipping between having fun and a little casually interjected training. It's got to the point where I'm going to have to admit to the training. Working out training zones hardly counts as casual (much as I am pretending to myself and to the world that it's all done in a breeze). But I have read many times that always going at full pelt doesn't build endurance - and this is what I normally do. The tendency is my chief suspect for not having the endurance depth to deal with eventualities at the Three Peaks. So, I've been working on skills and pedalling slowly. But with purpose.

Done. No dust.

The strangest feeling. I wasn't worried.

The day dawned. Or rather, a dimmish light seeped from behind the cloud blanket. The air was thick with drizzle. But I felt impervious to it. Very matter of fact. Make breakfast. Eat. Put clothes on. Go.

I forgot all sorts of things (to brush my teeth, apply chamois butter and pack a lip balm) but I had reached the point of don't care: go. This thing had been calling me for some time, and it was time to get on with it.

Having said that I was slow off the mark with lining up and quite far back in the line up, close to Chipps and a few other friends. The weather forecast (damp and windy) had made me choose winter tights. I'd decided to go for my more flexible shoes even though they weren't waterproof, with wool socks which stay warm, wet or dry. I set off wearing a waterproof jacket. I didn't take it off for the whole race. 'Damp and windy' proved to be an understatement.

The start was great. The bike is light and suited to gentle uphill so I flew ahead, making up places, keen to get a good position on Ingleborough. The first tracks were easy, the kind of farm tracks I love riding. But we were crossing streams within minutes. A pair of riders collided in front of me, and immersed themselves in a brook. It was salutary. I jumped over it, noting that it would be good to keep dry for as long as possible.

As the hill became steeper, the true bogfest began and I realised that trying to dance every mud puddle was futile (mud puddle, there must be a word for that. Muddle is taken though). I was quite happy slogging up though, and reasonably fast. Making sure I didn't lose a shoe in the sucking mud. But that was the warm up. I'd seen the pictures of Simon Fell's crazy angle and was just waiting for it to start.

Steep went steeper and we started to enter dense cloud. Shouldering the bike was not too bad - turning it to the wind accidentally was a big mistake with much staggering and the odd falling over episode. Perhaps the carbon wheels, with their deep rims, were not the best choice. Too late now...

Despite this (and weaving across the almost vertical slope at the pleasure of the wind) I was doing pretty well and moving slightly faster than the column which had kept to the left to use the fence for support. Once the 'super steep'™ bit was over, there was still more 'quite steep'™ before the path flattened and we were disgorged, disorientated, in dense grey mist on the top of a grey, stone splinter strewn plateau. Tape guided us through this monochrome landscape to the marshals, and the first dib. The feeling of achievement and elation was amazing! If I can do this, I can do anything.

The descent flashed by - a bit stumbly to start with. I was finding dismounts and remounts challenging. After a few 'surprise dismounts' I came to realise that the winter tights were descending slowly and acting like a slingshot whenever I tried to get into the saddle. I'd get on and then be surprised to be spat off again immediately and unceremoniously. In fact, the whole wet kit, wet legs, wet shoes for sustained riding was a new experience. My brain switched off to the discomfort (good - I kept going) but also to the consequences (bad - I found it difficult to square up the fact that things that I would usually find easy were much more difficult with soggy kit as I became more tired).

For Ingleborough, though, this wasn't yet an issue. I made it down the descent on a wave of elation to the delightful sight of Stanny with his bag of treats. I ate half a banana and took a bottle filled with energy drink and set off. The link road to Whernside wasn't far off and as I rode I reflected that maybe I hadn't eaten enough. Then it dawned on me that my food was in my backpack. For a couple of minutes I actually deliberated about getting at the food but fortunately (although stupidly slowly) came to the conclusion that I had to do it. I stopped, stuffed a bar into my mouth and got going again, resenting every non-moving second. Note for next time!

I don't remember much about Whernside, apart that the rain and the wind were worse. I had to push in places when carrying would have been more efficient for fear of being swept off the stone staircase into the mist-filled abyss. It felt like I was being sandblasted. There were a lot of steps. They were slippery. So was the bank next to them. I kind of ground at it, rather less enthusiastically than I might. I kept losing my bottle - its magnetic attachments which worked off road on other occasions were really not up to this. I hoped that it wasn't a metaphor.

The descent off Whernside was probably my least favourite bit - I kept trying to ride it but it was low visibility, deceptive and wet. The water bars were hidden in puddles as were the edges of the path at times. There were so many ways to come off the bike. Slipping off the edge of the slab path stalled the bike and led to falls. Cycling along the boggy bank led to sliding off to left or right. Or to plunging the front wheel into bog pools, creating another version of the stall and off. Falls created amazing cramp throughout my legs which I've never felt quite so comprehensively before. Chipps caught up with me at this point and disappeared off into the mist (my race strategy was to keep ahead of him for as long as possible so that if I had a serious failing of any kind he'd know and possibly be there to shepherd me down to base).

This was where the conditions bit me - my wet kit flapped around my legs, I found it hard to remount and avoid the crotch-slingshot effect, and my brakes did not want to work, ultimately ending in a comedic 'can't brake, can't stop, steer into reeds, over the bars' dismount. That hurt quite a bit and when concerned fellow riders picked me up, I was vastly grateful. I was a little more circumspect after that, giving steep terrain a miss and running more. I did manage to ride some rocky gently sloping sections and gave myself a little cheer for getting over quite a few water bars. In retrospect, they should not have held much terror but I was probably empty and a bit cold which was affecting my mind and skills.

When I finally reached the bottom of Whernside (which seemed to involve fording several torrents - only one of which had a bridge) I was very relieved. The doubts which had beset me in the mist vanished (probably as Stanny stuffed jelly snakes into my mouth, washed down by more energy drink). I'd come this far, I would finish.

The link road seemed to take forever and I managed to add some Clif blocks to my calorie intake. They're quite tricky to open whilst cycling though (note for next time). At the bottom of Pen y Ghent I turned down the lane - familiar with it from cheering Chipps there last year. As he'd told me, it was just the kind of terrain I like riding on a cx bike, stony and not too steep. Wonderfully, my friend Kirsty who was there to cheer offered me water and when I asked whether she had sweets, one of her friends broke up a bar so that I had it handy in my front pocket.

Riding Pen y Ghent lane would be something I'd do for fun on a good day. On Sunday, it was satisfying as I ground up it, refusing to dismount as people around me were doing. I even rode the three foot deep puddle at the bottom (I was bemused that I managed it - it was a really odd feeling to have water lapping your thighs as you ride).

Eventually it became too steep and rocky. The wind was hard work and quite often I had to wheel rather than carry just to avoid being blown away. I had a few dispiriting moments as I seemed to get slower and slower - until I remembered the bars in my pocket. They were so easy to eat and as I chomped them down my mind cleared and my feet started to move faster again.

People were dashing down the hill on the lane as we struggled up - and I envied them! As you near the top of Pen y Ghent there's an amazingly steep section, after which you hope it's over. Of course, it's not, there's a upwards sloping boggy section to go (how we can have bogs at the top of mountains is a mystery - but they do seem to be a speciality of the area) before the welcoming sight of mist clad marshals. Again, a wave of sheer joy passed through me. Turning back onto this now gently descending, but horribly boggy, terrain, it looked like the promised land. Well, as far as we could see. Which, honestly, wasn't very far.

Despite the bog, from which we slithered onto the loose, rocky path, the descent seemed to go so quickly. There were still a few people struggling up near the top (which meant, happily, that I was not last). I became happier and happier, uncovered my brakes and let rip. I was delighted to pass quite a few people. I'd been eyeing up the path on the way up and it felt familiar enough to pull the stops out.

Sadly one lady got me back on the link road - my highest gear was too low to help me keep my advantage as the last two miles are almost entirely downhill.

But in all, I am delighted. I finished and a lot of people didn't. It took 5 hours and 45 minutes - longer than I hoped but fast enough to make me 23rd woman in a field of 57. I got a medal. I might wear it round the house occasionally. It has been the most physically demanding thing I have ever done. I tested the limits and measured up.*

*If I ever want to raise money for charity again though, I might pick something easier next time. Like a coffee morning.
You can still donate on my justgiving pages. Go on: amnesty ... or ... greenpeace the choice is yours.
Thanks! Beate

Nearly there...

So, I am as excited as a child at Christmas. I am collecting together the gear (I've cleaned this little low profile backpack and bladder off for the occasion). I lay awake last night thinking about the course and wondering about the weather and realising that I didn't really care. I just want to do it!

I went to see Ali this morning for a second look at my shoulder. She confirmed that it's getting better and told me to cosset it a bit this week. Not to get it cold, give it a nice heat pack one night and generally recover.

So, the training. Yes, I've been doing some. Not as much as I'd like but enough to feel moderately prepared. At least an extra CX loop every week. Another competition - the Singletrack Up the Buttress for cobbled climby madness (second elite woman since you ask). And another 'cross race.

On Sunday 23 September we stopped off on our travels for a bit of London League cx. We thought it would be balmy and warm down south. We were, oh so, wrong. A solid hour of heavy downpour - although the course was such good fun that I didn't really notice until I peeled my clothes off and they puddled on the floor.

The best bit was that I slid off on a corner, and nothing hurt. There were at least 13 women to chase down as well - I made it upto 5th place which wasn't too bad considering that I didn't start too well and  I've had a bit of enforced tapering - a week in London for London Fashion Week. Although that was definitely part of my training to drink like a cyclist. Champagne at 10am anyone?

The course was really fun - Redbridge Cycling Centre hosts mountain bike events and they routed the 'cross race round a couple of blue route bermed corners, through some muddy singletrack and over three decent sized humps as well as up and down more standard playing field fare. The rain gradually increased the slipperiness but the mud never became really deep and boggy which was nice.

I tested out my shoe choice - I think I am going to stick to my Pearl Izumi non-waterproof but flexible mountain biking shoes and try and keep moving fast enough not to get cold. Other than that I have stacked neatly every possible combination of mountain biking wear I possess. And some nicked from Chipps as well.

It's likely to be not-that-nice on Sunday so I'm expecting to be wearing tights (maybe winter ones), a base layer, jersey and a waterproof. However, last year it was bright sun by the end of the race from a rainy start so I am keeping all bases covered.

And taking a pair of Sealskinz socks. Just in case I turn into a wuss halfway through. I changed into them halfway round the Mary Towneley Loop I did earlier this year and they improved my soggy life for quite a while!

Right, back to more packing and bike fettling (or, more accurately to stand next to Chipps and look on as he fettles the bikes). There'll be an equipment list before the end of the week...

I have been really rubbish at collecting sponsorship. Please sponsor me - for Amnesty or Greenpeace! These links go straight to my JustGiving pages, go on, use them xx

Do not fall off your bike

I've just been to the physio. Not just any physio. Mills Physio. She's very good at cyclists (here she is, with her favourite piece of advice writ large - there's probably a bike propped just out of view too). And she know how much doing the Three Peaks means so she's not going to tell me not to do it or not to train to do it. She's going to tell me how to.

At least that's what I hope, as she moves shoulder, the right, through all its range and shows me the muscles that are not extending properly. And for comparison runs the nicely mobile left one through its paces without any of the winces and grimaces she's just elicited.

If you fall off your bike, onto your shoulder, it can become quite sore. And if it's sore, you hold it into a position to protect it, causing more stiffness and swelling and pain when you move. Until you come to the conclusion that you are condemned for ever to a lop-sided existence with twinges whenever you reach out in a way that is not-approved by the newly clenching muscles.

Which won't do if you're planning to use said shoulder for carrying your bike up several largish peaks, never mind directing the bike in the right directions on the way down.

So, to rewind. I was enjoying my cyclocross learning curve with the every-other-week (ish) discipline of the Yorkshire Cyclocross Summer Series. Every session was a voyage of discovery - from realising that my bike was equipped with stupidly high gears to learning not to follow slow giffers up hills too closely (they may roll back and take off your rear derailleur). Two races ago, I learned that falling off can have consequences.

I'd just started enjoying the race, there was only one woman ahead of me in the field and I was flying. Maybe I should always take a quick deep breath or something when I get that 'I'm flying' feeling. I flew on though, down a short, steep, grassy bank and my wheels went from under me. I'd obviously chosen a better line the previous times. At the time, I was less bothered about the pain in my shoulder than the fact that I was having difficulty getting my chain back on. It lost me maybe a minute as the other women in the field all sailed past. Once I'd managed to overcome my fingers and thumbs, the only thing that mattered was catching them up and regaining second place. I did but I was fairly breathless by the end!

Two weeks later, I rode a much more conservative race and finished bruise free (although ending up in a tape dead end meant another battle to keep my place, so many things to learn). But the shoulder niggled. Another couple of weeks later, I gave in. It wasn't getting better on its own and I was having to be very ginger with my training.

Carrying my bike had even less appeal than usual. I have felt quite battered after off-roading and mountain biking sessions and ever so slightly under the weather all the time. I didn't manage the 100 mile ride I had as this weeks' target and I am beginning to worry that the shorter rides and skills won't be enough. I need endurance too. 

The pain was only sharp if I moved in certain directions, and I managed to ignore the lower levels of it to get on with stuff. I usually accept that falling off is part of learning but I've been careful not to - and probably stiffer because of it. None of the effects have been huge, but it has been a drag; a small constant debilitating effect. 

So I ended up on Ms Mills couch, with her digging her fingers into muscles to persuade them to release their crampy hold and set my shoulder back on straight. It's really odd how interconnected the sets of muscles are, how sensation is referred as one muscle is relaxed and then another. It hurt quite a lot which made me realise how out of true the shoulder had become.

I decided not to try and ride my bike today, just to help the shoulder get used to being back in place before I start doing things to make it tense up. I have exercises to do to help strengthen the back of the shoulder so that it isn't so prone to rolling in and a nice stretchy band to do them with. I have been told heat is good and not to carry bike for a few days and to let Ali know how it's going next week.

Post script: It took me a while to get this up. Shoulder is definitely on the mend, but I have to be careful. Carrying will start next week.