When The Juju Isn't Good

You know how some people are superstitious? Well I'm not one of them. Don't walk under ladders? Well duh, there's a higher probability that something above will fall on you, and that's if you don't knock the ladder over. All that stuff about bad luck running in three's? A couple of bad things happen and you'll look for the third, it's known as confirmation bias. So if something bad happens I try not to let it phase me, I don't start looking for more bad stuff and I definitely don't use it as an excuse to dodge a 24 hour bike ride. Good, I'm glad we got that straight.

Where's all this going then?

Big rides take lots of preparation so they tend to get pencilled in early in the year and the last weekend in June had been picked long ago to ride the GT24. The GT24 is a point to point ride from the Riverside Museum on Glasgow dockside to South Kessock slipway near Inverness via the West Highland Way and the Great Glen Way. Approximately 170 miles and around 17000 feet of ascent, a big day out by anyone's standards. I planned to ride it with my riding partner Saul who was up for the challenge. The week beforehand was spent laying out and packing equipment, getting to grips with a new GPS and preparing bikes.

All set at Glasgow riverside

A Friday night post work dash by van up to Glasgow saw Saul and I installed in a Premier Inn at Milngavie for an early start on Saturday. Unfortunately Saul had caught the wheel arch of his van on a neighbour's car at home before we left on Friday night but our thoughts were on the challenge ahead of us, no time to dwell on a minor scrape to the van. Saturday morning arrived and we discovered a flat tyre on the van, not the end of the world, just a minor inconvenience. Changing the wheel delayed us by thirty minutes but we were still riding by 8.30am, I did remark to Saul "let's hope these things don't come in threes".

Group selfie. We were photobombed

Ride progress from the dockside to Milngavie was initially slow, the surprisingly scenic route followed cycle ways through a wooded valleys where locals were being instructed as part of some sort of boot camp course. The path split often as our route wound its way from the Clyde towards the hills so frequent maps checks were required as we did our best to stay on course.

From Milngavie we were able to use the GPS and we were soon clear of Glasgow, riding in the sunshine alongside a lochan flanked by rhododendron bushes in bloom towards the distant highlands. The views were great, it was warm and so far the going had been good, a disused railway, minor roads and forest tracks led towards Conic Hill on the shores of Loch Lomond. This was the first proper climb of the day and the path was busy with walkers and runners so upward progress was often interrupted. The terrain became trickier here as well, big rock steps prevented the trail from being washed away and made the ascent more challenging, we hadn't yet met any other riders and I was glad that I wasn't on my gravel bike with its skinnier tyres and minimal suspension.

Mount Conic

We stopped at the top of Conic Hill to admire the view over Loch Lomond whilst I attempted to sort out the indexing on my gears, it had become really poor over the last few miles and I couldn't work out why. We did the best we could and it seemed ok without me on the bike. Time for a big descent down to the Loch, the rock steps need restraint if we were to stay puncture free and avoid delays. There were too many walkers about anyway to pick up much speed, many of whom seeming slightly incredulous as we rode down the rocky steps towards the forested shoreline of the Loch.  I had moved right off the steps onto the grass when I saw Saul go over his handlebars and land on the steps before bouncing to a halt off two more granite steps. I winced, but he got up, straightened his handlebars and looked to be about to ride on before thinking better of it. I ditched my bike and crossed the steps to check he was ok. A moment was needed to work out the damage. With adrenaline coursing through veins it was often a few minutes before all injuries were reckoned. Saul's helmet had fortunately protected his head but he felt nauseous and had double vision which suggested that his injuries were more serious than we initially thought. 

The walkers we had passed further up the hill slowly came past and I took in the view whilst Saul waited for his vision to settle. After fifteen minutes or so he was clear to continue however steps were walked and progress was much steadier. We carried the bikes over a narrow gate from the steep grassy hill and descended into a pretty pine woodland on the shores of the Loch. I could tell from the pace that Saul wasn't right and we stopped in a loch side car park were Ibuprofin was administered. Another twenty minutes passed and it was becoming obvious that a change of plan was needed, he agreed that he wasn't in any condition to be riding further today. Whilst an ambulance wasn't required I needed to get his van so I set off back to Glasgow. 

Five miles later and an unfamiliar grating sound from the rear of the bike was starting to worry me. It sounded like carbon fibre on carbon fibre and the back end of the bike felt vague. The chain was also jumping off every time I stood up to pedal and I was starting to get irritated with these mechanical problems. I stopped and tried to work out what was going on. Problem number one was a slow puncture which I pumped up and hoped that the tubeless tyre sealant would seal. The rear mech looked to be badly aligned and I was confused about why this was, the bike had been fine only forty miles ago and it wasn't like I had fallen off or hit the rear mech in the meantime. Regardless, I had a van to fetch so I pressed on as the chorus of mechanical destruction grew louder with every revolution. Of course the tyre went soft again and after a few more miles I was forced to stop and install an inner tube. It was only when I removed the wheel that I noticed the rear cassette was loose on the freewheel. Mental cogs whirred and realised that the freewheel condition was terminal, if I went easy on it I might make it to the Clyde, jump up and down on it and I would have no chance. Inner tube installed and I chose a route following the busy A81 into Glasgow. The bike was now changing gear twice a pedal stroke which was frustrating but I focused on getting the van and ignored the cacophony from the back of the bike. 

The high rise flats of north Glasgow eventually came into view followed by the river Clyde snaking its way towards the wide open spaces of Argyll and Bute. Downhill to the riverside and I arrived at the van which was quickly packed up so I could head back to Lock Lomond for Saul.

I reflected back on the day's problems, in many ways it was good that I'd turned back when I did or we'd have been in a much less accessible spot on the isolated east shore of Lock Lomond when mechanical disaster struck. Accidents happen off road and without their threat what we do would be much less exciting. We'd both ride another day, but maybe I'd be carrying a horseshoe next time.

Day of the Roses: 231 Sunny ones

Big mile day dreams blossomed though the early days of June as notions of a home - west coast - east coast - home via the dales in a day evolved into a main road dodging route. Having plugged options into Google maps it turned out that my plans were optimistic, there was no way I was going to ride 340 miles on Sunday and be back in a fit state for work in Monday. I was keen to ride the "Way of the Roses" Sustrans route partly because following a way marked route would make navigation much simpler but also because it would be an interesting and picturesque route through the Dales.

Sunday dawn arrived early, the dog was desperate to be let out so I was up earlier than intended at 4.30am, a bucket of muesli and some toast set me up for the first few miles. Unfortunately it was a false start as I had to return home after the first mile when I remembered that I hadn't oiled my chain, there was no way I was riding 200+ miles with a dry squeaky chain.

The start of a big ride is always filled with apprehension, will I puncture? What will break? Do I have enough food? Am I riding too fast? Too slow? What if??? It fades soon enough, and spinning up the Calder Valley at 6am on a Sunday morning all I saw were shift workers, taxis and lost souls in the grey murk.

Bright patches emerged through the the cloud as I descended into Cliviger and by the time I reached the ornate buildings of Padiham town centre I had the sun on my back. I followed familiar roads to Lancaster, this was a popular audaxing route and the miles passed quickly through the scenic Trough of Bowland. Spinning past fresh hedgerows on quiet lanes the gentle whirring of freshly oiled gears was only interrupted by the calls of lambs, skylarks and the occasional curlew.

Zen-ness was shattered as I rode into Lancaster, past the old prison and the Ashton memorial, over the river Lune and out to Morecambe. White van man was alive and full of useful insights on the main road here, apparently roads aren't for bicycles. A useful dose of adrenaline had me speeding towards the end of the road. Morecambe-on-the-mud was passable in the bright sunlight, I reckoned it would be pretty depressing on a damp, grey January day. Bingo, tired cafes, and mobility specialists added to the impression of a seaside town on the wane.

A couple of photos at the sea front and I was off on the Way of the Roses, navigation back in Lancaster was complicated by the number of cycle routes on the riverside path but the quality of the traffic free paths was excellent, a world apart from the paths in Huddersfield.

From Lancaster I rolled alongside the riverside on a tree lined former railway line to the Crook of Lune where several pannier laden touring bikes were leant against a wooden shed from which coffee was being served. A couple of brief climbs on a narrow lane flanked by wide open fields led up the Lune valley to Hornby. From here it was more narrow undulating lanes bypassing Bentham and eventually dropping into Clapham, right to Austwick and Settle where sustenance was sought. I stopped in the centre at Ye Olde Naked Man cafe for freshly made pastries and a sandwich.
The cloudless sky meant it was now 22 degrees C, hardly hot but more than warm enough on the climbs. I sat outside the cafe to eat an egg roll only to be joined by some chain smoking bikers dissecting the morning's overtaking manoeuvres and the latest offerings from the 'big 4' in Japan, it sounded dull but then gear ratios and carbon bling probably had equally minimal appeal to the passer-by and I'd spent plenty of time discussing their minutiae. A sportive was passing through the centre of Settle and watching the stragglers provided some entertainment, their route took them up the steepest hill out of Settle, a hill that I was soon grinding up with a bunch of riders who'd run out of energy. They zig-zagged to and fro up the hill in their granny gears denying the reality of the gradient.  I was rewarded by a croissant from my back pocket on the following descent as I free wheeled down lanes lined with butter cups and cow parsley in bloom.  This was the best of the Dales, bypassing Grassington and through Appletreewick where I stopped to have a chat with Mick Collins who was enjoying a pint in the sun, it wasn't the first time I'd bumped into Mick miles from home, last time it was on the finish line for Battle on the Beach at Pembrey. Tempted as I was to have a pint I was only half way and I wanted to get home before dark so I rode off up the lane towards Stump Cross caverns and climbed to the highest point of the ride at Greenhowe. There were copious warnings about the descent to Pateley Bridge in the route description, yes it was a tad knarly in places but I was paced by a BMW 1200GS motorcycle so speed through the tight, chipping littered bends was limited anyway. I stopped for a coffee in Pateley Bridge, I needed to check the map and fancied sitting in the shade for twenty minutes after the the climbs of the last thirty miles. I was served in the cafe by a guy in his 50's wearing a Saxon T shirt whilst his wife berated him across the courtyard where I was sitting. Too old to Rock n' Roll, too young to die...

From Pateley Bridge I climbed to Brimham rocks which were busy with day trippers, this was the last proper climb of the day and from here it was downhill all the way to Ripon. Nearing Ripon the route turned into fountains Abbey and onto the main road through the estate which was closed to cars. The estate road was absolutely straight passing the various buildings of the estate, all built in their own unique style until the twin towers of Ripon cathedral were in sight straight ahead. The road lined up perfectly with the cathedral several miles away, the gatehouse archway at the end of the drive a frame for the City of Ripon.

From Ripon the route was very flat, quiet lanes to Boroughbridge and York before changing direction out of York and on to the path alongside the A64. This led into Tadcaster where the lack of bridge brought me to a halt whilst I wondered how I was going to get across the river Wharfe. A quick scout about and I found a temporary pedestrian bridge to ride across, on the far side I was told off by a kid on a BMX for not dismounting! From here I was on famaliar ground, Rothwell, Wakefield, Grange Moor, a quick stop to untangle another rider's chain and I was climbing Scar lane back to home. I felt like another 100 miles would be OK so that will need putting to the test soon with a true coast to coast!