tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84858574923943494942024-03-05T04:40:03.693-08:00The Gutsibikes BlogCycling blog, endurance rides and races - on and off roadGutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-16816781778651631142023-02-28T10:22:00.012-08:002023-02-28T10:37:14.726-08:00From Souk to Sea: Atlas Mountain Race 2023<p>I empty my rucksack for the second time, this time in a state of minor panic. </p>
<p>Shorts? </p>
<p>Shirt? </p>
<p>Vest? </p>
<p>Nada. All missing. How has my careful preparation gone so wrong? I message Jen back home. The missing kit is neatly laid over the back of a chair in our living room. </p>
<p>Bugger. </p>
<p>There’s a Decathlon 8 miles away so I ride down there in search of kit. I swipe the last shirt on the display and cross my fingers that it will fit. </p>
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<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j3gKRRJgqP5urgHnITsXvZ1WbJjRaO7SiMPd-y7y9TLr7KQ7wzAlawE-lzAtrbGXcQ6tED0SZjy4AqHIEnxphMqUNyrBZ8uk8YzdkuZI1HkoxU7y2ut0TMtU5CkPDBfPmnA2sGOB4NeX_QURucmg3KD-3xJeqrBWB51HPCLonlSZRIaGN0PK5V1G1g/s2379/87826D53-6389-4317-85A8-029803114FFD.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j3gKRRJgqP5urgHnITsXvZ1WbJjRaO7SiMPd-y7y9TLr7KQ7wzAlawE-lzAtrbGXcQ6tED0SZjy4AqHIEnxphMqUNyrBZ8uk8YzdkuZI1HkoxU7y2ut0TMtU5CkPDBfPmnA2sGOB4NeX_QURucmg3KD-3xJeqrBWB51HPCLonlSZRIaGN0PK5V1G1g/w400-h400/87826D53-6389-4317-85A8-029803114FFD.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" title="on the start line" width="400" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j3gKRRJgqP5urgHnITsXvZ1WbJjRaO7SiMPd-y7y9TLr7KQ7wzAlawE-lzAtrbGXcQ6tED0SZjy4AqHIEnxphMqUNyrBZ8uk8YzdkuZI1HkoxU7y2ut0TMtU5CkPDBfPmnA2sGOB4NeX_QURucmg3KD-3xJeqrBWB51HPCLonlSZRIaGN0PK5V1G1g/s2379/87826D53-6389-4317-85A8-029803114FFD.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpjBlbhi0SK3lhIwGYKSVBk_Y667Eya4H8uivrPvRL8yQyUS3PPfa0QV79DvAEV9puBIO4LIpgIkqvvIMr4Pt22q6Mxmk0DxFGWb-6pWVWW14swygKHYwGaTQzG4vR64EQVXBwklQwjdJFK5BxGK9JrLUctJhEPTxb3CfdEQf29atXEpN1tGs6rHXksw/w640-h480/IMG_8609.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" title="pre-race briefing" width="640" /></a></p>
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<p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Within hours the Atlas Mountain Race 2023 (AMR) peloton is rolling out, silence replaces the nervous pre-start chat and excited police delight in escorting us out of town. Meanwhile locals look on snapping the spectacle on smartphones, it all adds to the race vibe.</p>
<p>The miles build, the sun sets, and we are finally free to push on up a rolling ascent towards a distant range of snow capped mountains.</p>
<p>The darkness is sudden and intense, contributing to the first crash of the race - Jorge overruns a corner smashing his nose and I temper my need for speed. </p>
<p>Kids stand by the dusty red roadside shouting encouragement whilst adults peer out of windows and doors see what all the fuss is about. Flourescent light pours over shop counters and out onto the road. Boxes of crisps, crates of water bottles and stacks of wafer biscuits crowd the tiny shop openings. I stop and buy water, the first of many times on the AMR.</p>
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<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7U1Bdd46lTPNiuYFO0PE_CLmuRkvkTIUVf0A-9UpgTVaD5HLu-ZINtOC_U20l5_P4oVY4BTsBoftfRcnaL5xcTnSECvr_wWZspc82GMNorkdu0NwMJsHwJib65qwLj9Fo7rSuxNJWLwho62zABn8nItSkjyJolDYey34SkUHBf8b3SOI-4n-gLBqQA/s4032/IMG_8622.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7U1Bdd46lTPNiuYFO0PE_CLmuRkvkTIUVf0A-9UpgTVaD5HLu-ZINtOC_U20l5_P4oVY4BTsBoftfRcnaL5xcTnSECvr_wWZspc82GMNorkdu0NwMJsHwJib65qwLj9Fo7rSuxNJWLwho62zABn8nItSkjyJolDYey34SkUHBf8b3SOI-4n-gLBqQA/w640-h480/IMG_8622.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" title="the first col" width="640" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HF_OsBjz2G17Wrr3ymTewWVAJ06h33ZwTrvZvoM_WaFMeMnYokyqOL_81bpD8-ouiZX4ZqJiJ1cuqJLvmS6KHABAMC9TzpJvoKeymZGzPkCRuX_qt44VPMl9fLsZSH3JwhBPTc_F_znfEFvcYCuXel7SnaFqqm1Yw_MwgrxjniG0Bk2stk8Yd2N3qA/s4032/IMG_8630.jpeg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HF_OsBjz2G17Wrr3ymTewWVAJ06h33ZwTrvZvoM_WaFMeMnYokyqOL_81bpD8-ouiZX4ZqJiJ1cuqJLvmS6KHABAMC9TzpJvoKeymZGzPkCRuX_qt44VPMl9fLsZSH3JwhBPTc_F_znfEFvcYCuXel7SnaFqqm1Yw_MwgrxjniG0Bk2stk8Yd2N3qA/w640-h480/IMG_8630.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" title="moonlit village" width="640" /></a></p>
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<p>The temperature is dropping and at the top of the first col I stop in the darkness alongside other riders to add layers of clothing for a loose and winding road descent to a village where local police are out marking the route with flashing blue lights.</p>
<p>We then point stems skyward and the road surface changes to gravel, a white snake slinking round the knolls and bowls of the ridge ahead of me. I pass through a sleeping village, whitewashed walls reflecting the full moon. High above is a distant snowy ridge which I assume we will climb despite the lack of obvious path. Hairpins become steeper whilst crisp snow encroaches on the trail forcing all but the most determined to dismount and shove. Looking over my shoulder I see an army on the march, a string of battery and flickering dynamo lights moving relentlessly upwards. Tramp, tramp through the snow, freehubs ticking a guilty reminder to the hikeabikers. More layers; a down jacket, windproof jacket, merino buff, mitts and I’m now wearing every item of clothing that I brought. Will it get any colder?</p>
<p>Distant red tail lights finally reveal the route over the ridge high above us, it will be at least an hour before I reach the col. </p>
<p>The descent is actually harder, the notorious hikeabike is not obvious on the ground and I’m soon hauling my laden bike over glistening limestone and quarz boulders in the search for a path. Once I do stumble onto the path it’s on the edge of rideable. Its been at least 7 hours since we left the easy miles of Marrakech for the mountains and my brain is is slow avoiding the snow drifts which lie in every hollow. Minor offs are all part of the mission to escape the mountain and reach the first checkpoint (CP1) at Telouet. CP1 is obvious from the pile of expensive bikes abandoned in the road for the promise of hot food and drink within. Inside, riders huddle around a roaring wood burner in the far corner of a rustic hall, tagines and tea are served and hushed conversation is punctuated by the occasional loud snore of a napping survivor. </p>
<p>I remind myself that I’ve completed the toughest 100 km of the race before rolling out under pre-dawn skies. The rest of the day is a blur of double-track chasing distant horizons. Distant snowy peaks to my right, the russet tones of sandstone to my left. This landscape offers an illusion of tranquility; only the whisper of wind for my ears, blue sky and sand for my eyes. </p>
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<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JeyudRaRJVLjuROkv_JFqxVI_ozWpbrvW0mAhi_llTzYo0Utdz4_Zb5lZcN2b-VSGZjYB-eZOdyHoWE7F4k-Xr8veidavKI3-7IWjTnppGiBIXi_pR5dfhfA9iWsiL7oHTnOaf3W7GS2ZrxgKqzzIZwV7NIiE42W-Vm1szLAH4quX8rFxkUolH6f2Q/s4032/IMG_8651.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JeyudRaRJVLjuROkv_JFqxVI_ozWpbrvW0mAhi_llTzYo0Utdz4_Zb5lZcN2b-VSGZjYB-eZOdyHoWE7F4k-Xr8veidavKI3-7IWjTnppGiBIXi_pR5dfhfA9iWsiL7oHTnOaf3W7GS2ZrxgKqzzIZwV7NIiE42W-Vm1szLAH4quX8rFxkUolH6f2Q/s320/IMG_8651.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhOA69Gco0J456HoQH9en6nNJB3kU4GCAcKd1BXvX7lM2GYCLHbE8j-P4LKvlQhdhKLVAn8D2X9pwcKqzka7HBzEHLGEAlTaSGZvIl6L9GDwfLb92DfdSa2c6zpspvPg5JCMIj_WAWPb04cwODtHtqDvdHGE7QBacNO1G-qr25SOS1nWAgPzH5HPS1ug/s4032/IMG_8636.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhOA69Gco0J456HoQH9en6nNJB3kU4GCAcKd1BXvX7lM2GYCLHbE8j-P4LKvlQhdhKLVAn8D2X9pwcKqzka7HBzEHLGEAlTaSGZvIl6L9GDwfLb92DfdSa2c6zpspvPg5JCMIj_WAWPb04cwODtHtqDvdHGE7QBacNO1G-qr25SOS1nWAgPzH5HPS1ug/s320/IMG_8636.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNcEpOCJnOqXc3WigPvTOdn-4k7h6CcL8ya7PqVcOoCCyyjt_AT00MyKn67VmHadVE8GE2kQccFNPvtwTrc2WFcCAlGwemmxlxBC5fcFi_3Uv6ee5O5YeNB4wZPgeeJ-fquaGPeR6WVzl9PKvGBn_AK7NUjytlXEC0yyWD2L07_oaORSQ7Dc1NJNEREA/s4032/IMG_8631.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNcEpOCJnOqXc3WigPvTOdn-4k7h6CcL8ya7PqVcOoCCyyjt_AT00MyKn67VmHadVE8GE2kQccFNPvtwTrc2WFcCAlGwemmxlxBC5fcFi_3Uv6ee5O5YeNB4wZPgeeJ-fquaGPeR6WVzl9PKvGBn_AK7NUjytlXEC0yyWD2L07_oaORSQ7Dc1NJNEREA/w382-h287/IMG_8631.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
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<p>I detour for lunch, my second omelette of the day served with the traditional round bread and sweet tea. Post lunch progress is improved, at least until I reach the approach to Imassine which follows a shingle filled river bed. Kids in villages run or ride alongside, some demand 'Bic!' or 'chocolate!' but most offer smiles and outstretched palms for low fives. I meet a frame builder from Lyon test riding his latest Roubam steel XC frame. We discuss the merits of various steel grades on the descent into Immasine before locating more tea, bread and tagine at a dusty roadside shack. </p>
<p>The main road leaving Immasine is edgy, I must have missed the 'no bikes allowed' memo because every car and bus passes within a whisker of my left hand shifter, it's a relief to leave the road for more twisting double-track rolling south toward the Anti-Atlas. Unfortunately the first river crossing of the route soon comes into view, it’s bad timing; wet feet and shoes are a poor start to a night bivvying in the hills. By the time I stop to bed down on a patch of sand my feet are cold and I snatch a few hours poor sleep between the whir of passing riders and the discomfort of numb feet. </p>
<p>I’m up at 3.30am, moving under moonlight skies, chasing distant red lights in a game of cat and mouse where we are all both cat and mouse. I find it difficult to get enthusiastic about racing on 2 hours sleep at -7 degrees C and I stop more frequently than I should to adjust kit, eat and take photos. Eventually the skies brighten and I grind and shove my way up a series of rocky switchbacks to the spectacular plateau of the Anti-Atlas. Distant rocky escarpments loom over black earth slopes, it’s like Monument Valley up here; angular ridges and dark canyons as far as the eye can see. </p>
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<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzGJnTdDcdCS0OvaO9Z1SO5y6iIrdFOv8E6pGMV8UtcG533AgdM1FB231leQwJDoJSbeogEPXaBTMSbx35m95vDTL31RUC9oYho35x36egMKAfl3yPWz9D1clq67cPJm7fcqEojP2YNPr7D0jKfHtIaU2bi31Czir7QgY7lXpErt7yHvb9XMmwgTs_2g/s4032/IMG_8660.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzGJnTdDcdCS0OvaO9Z1SO5y6iIrdFOv8E6pGMV8UtcG533AgdM1FB231leQwJDoJSbeogEPXaBTMSbx35m95vDTL31RUC9oYho35x36egMKAfl3yPWz9D1clq67cPJm7fcqEojP2YNPr7D0jKfHtIaU2bi31Czir7QgY7lXpErt7yHvb9XMmwgTs_2g/s320/IMG_8660.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYs0buZShrfyxFShyeOdrs77vIbx8e431t3-Ti_G_XOlwJQfjKV2-5-1UkjBRorjoEpjO6erNUfzRe8D-BSLBR26SblhMROZRRv9hWl3vpa-x5Gq_qcUQN7eirLcx_68cHEIpQT7m9lAMGDyBvHvOYowOzpz72-Akzo3N2RjUC2Qp0YuZP9j7MDf2aw/s4032/IMG_8678.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYs0buZShrfyxFShyeOdrs77vIbx8e431t3-Ti_G_XOlwJQfjKV2-5-1UkjBRorjoEpjO6erNUfzRe8D-BSLBR26SblhMROZRRv9hWl3vpa-x5Gq_qcUQN7eirLcx_68cHEIpQT7m9lAMGDyBvHvOYowOzpz72-Akzo3N2RjUC2Qp0YuZP9j7MDf2aw/s320/IMG_8678.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqba7VmeKXoGuCBTvA7GM57DSDRJXbZOpIe2eERBMV2Mqagc54ruTC-vm7LW3rrppDt_E2dcVbtepjgAfmlfZ7_E9NfSvymmE3Rntha17L7M86G-HawofewrXMNHRtINW4qSnBMkurEZzVY5Ft4qFZKT604-GW72LhgcDrXU7kdCMuY8u77tovktDmnA/s4032/IMG_8675.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqba7VmeKXoGuCBTvA7GM57DSDRJXbZOpIe2eERBMV2Mqagc54ruTC-vm7LW3rrppDt_E2dcVbtepjgAfmlfZ7_E9NfSvymmE3Rntha17L7M86G-HawofewrXMNHRtINW4qSnBMkurEZzVY5Ft4qFZKT604-GW72LhgcDrXU7kdCMuY8u77tovktDmnA/s320/IMG_8675.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6d9Y7Is5-NGxOhlnxWP9-mJdUo0cNO8J90iMPEu8v3eiMw5j1aM70PnuiYHcHOsFwq5MMhQs9NtEm2D6u8-OvwLvXfTE1WPaqStvGu32SM2JqLS-3bRbEWLgmOP9YtlXoEovjTcijSzeio-V-zoH3h3VsVT1RvyeSZ4o6VFztNxQGgz-BevJo3IyB3Q/s320/IMG_8676.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
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<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pGv2SNNgX8aFLZ2Y0FnqAW-ePAYnZrh5ZZafyAplGkBMXOzNSKbZFtnBeCyCn6MsRcoCMsmKaemYF0sKP0dEaenhLevJBpYPSZUsxvjmyKx_dgNsFaHIEcubTfSkqG3oaj0opeOpb_WmynSnzHupF8EWMLcn2ppoQOxv3JmaOEggX8RFCRqg7QTmTw/s4032/IMG_8671.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pGv2SNNgX8aFLZ2Y0FnqAW-ePAYnZrh5ZZafyAplGkBMXOzNSKbZFtnBeCyCn6MsRcoCMsmKaemYF0sKP0dEaenhLevJBpYPSZUsxvjmyKx_dgNsFaHIEcubTfSkqG3oaj0opeOpb_WmynSnzHupF8EWMLcn2ppoQOxv3JmaOEggX8RFCRqg7QTmTw/s320/IMG_8671.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHR5nekphfV_EQ9U3MrzUqgM03d2nMIIvXFh--adEAh0fHwQWrmsNo3ynLsmNCDO_4fhonZEy1W057apkdy4Zo5ZdZARi1qH-dMA6TNSL6Njp4M2hShMQuRq6j3Hm685pCJyyXfgFiEIuHbRu6dNg8fS58vZ-C07a5jEf8VmrjI4kRCkCNCwXZWeS8Vg/s320/IMG_8672.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzlcpxLChjwoNW65aeC7eXDjXmc383nBN4S21-qEbzUpi991naQdFWNSqqlJcPex15PsKegcikYi_0eExZOSQBtWHraTnIj72wnRuU_MOBems12nQmmq_9orw_9nu-VlTfrsrlw39d-1m9qLTfl_lcpBSSond5EG3OfqJ4jjR9S2eqhFMln_bBoHnqQ/s3948/IMG_8668.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzlcpxLChjwoNW65aeC7eXDjXmc383nBN4S21-qEbzUpi991naQdFWNSqqlJcPex15PsKegcikYi_0eExZOSQBtWHraTnIj72wnRuU_MOBems12nQmmq_9orw_9nu-VlTfrsrlw39d-1m9qLTfl_lcpBSSond5EG3OfqJ4jjR9S2eqhFMln_bBoHnqQ/s320/IMG_8668.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVBvQhnXCdKZ8BAsGDdzcGhxqQx1T0aYbJ12HAAoHrCZs3CMEAIwPR10ieLESHcrOPwdGg3B1g-13r7p2VveibAv1CdQf0oBzJ5Yp6e5Q0CaYgm_5IzRQobHQ-6V9fr2V9JQGvFV1EzY689rWbVur0NmIxBy71Bsd9L-1NEBcimlPLYRGsBNq7OeOig/s4032/IMG_8662.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVBvQhnXCdKZ8BAsGDdzcGhxqQx1T0aYbJ12HAAoHrCZs3CMEAIwPR10ieLESHcrOPwdGg3B1g-13r7p2VveibAv1CdQf0oBzJ5Yp6e5Q0CaYgm_5IzRQobHQ-6V9fr2V9JQGvFV1EzY689rWbVur0NmIxBy71Bsd9L-1NEBcimlPLYRGsBNq7OeOig/s320/IMG_8662.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The fun isn’t over until my freehub has screamed its way to the bottom of a seemingly endless fast gravel descent. The valley bottom is full of palms and lush green fields irrigated by a network of drainage channels, it’s amazing what life water enables.</p>
<p>I reach the waterfall at Tizgui around 4, Omar is on hand selling tea so I stop to enjoy a glass before tackling the road climb out of the valley. I’m more than a little surprised when he charges me 60 dirham for a glass of tea (the going rate is just a few dirham). He hands me the visitor book which is full of kind comments. I add my own note of polite appreciation in a particularly English gesture. </p>
<p>I buy dates in a layby on the next road climb and leave the tarmac once more as the moon rises. It’s spectacularly bright, reflecting off the limestone rocks alongside the trail and creating all manner of shapes in the shadows. I see sheep, trees, buildings and bizarre creatures in the stones and tumble weed that rush past in my peripheral vision. I stop to take in the absolute silence and spread nutella on a flat bread to see if fixing my blood sugar level reduces the hallucinations. The fatigue persists once I’m rolling though and I’m alone with the sound of my breath on the crisp night air, eyes darting side to side, attempting to rationalise fields stacked with stones which by moonlight resemble mausoleums. </p>
<p>Following another sub-zero bivvy I leave early the next morning to search for breakfast in Taznakt. The town is coming to life as I arrive at 8am, street sweepers are out, shop keepers are putting their shutters up and cafes are putting tables out on wide pavements in the centre of town. I’m on a mission looking for watch batteries for my rear light but all I find are confused looks and shaking heads as I show shop keepers the example battery from my pocket. I do at least find coffee, omelette and bread which are my fuel for the next 70km of nearly dead straight road. I make a stupid mistake on the approach to CP2 taking the wrong route spur and descending several hundred feet towards the palmerie before realising my error. I check the rider manual and retrace my track to then take the correct spur to a bustling CP2 for a stamp on my brevet card.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAzS13ooGptAshxIIguU6dUYDGQZYuNfItey5HB_r59zSrxilr-4rT-qd6cy55k6Hb07RovWijNA2FT1C9mMExlc5jvRP-O-W-9x-Dtq4lrzsYc51cowRnoRQbVg4csZayi72nqTzT40_4U4FwTii9z9_I3Xba9nTs5PB58NycOl-TGNYmVvCWScMBg/s3767/IMG_8709.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAzS13ooGptAshxIIguU6dUYDGQZYuNfItey5HB_r59zSrxilr-4rT-qd6cy55k6Hb07RovWijNA2FT1C9mMExlc5jvRP-O-W-9x-Dtq4lrzsYc51cowRnoRQbVg4csZayi72nqTzT40_4U4FwTii9z9_I3Xba9nTs5PB58NycOl-TGNYmVvCWScMBg/s320/IMG_8709.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41VLW-aNY5oURbMORE9cAie5kCjj3iXD3_A-L_HaeM1g1Zwmg0PlJo6TlD4A2EWjXZbjsDcqOgBUPxIw8W8GcQC4Shz6BTfG1r87hp7-__zaLSIBw9qbAh5JvpIyxHzYgeEfCBC4Knl9CzNntH2CednqCw8BIHLgXHboFwERCohE6F9iOOKFNgkVDww/s4032/IMG_8731.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41VLW-aNY5oURbMORE9cAie5kCjj3iXD3_A-L_HaeM1g1Zwmg0PlJo6TlD4A2EWjXZbjsDcqOgBUPxIw8W8GcQC4Shz6BTfG1r87hp7-__zaLSIBw9qbAh5JvpIyxHzYgeEfCBC4Knl9CzNntH2CednqCw8BIHLgXHboFwERCohE6F9iOOKFNgkVDww/s320/IMG_8731.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTmXCV1iyoPCqgGi7gnw_1hmMeLCcEwAUkRE07wR4Vu3fWZlFcSxKYUDjobHZF7E-fj0j3Szun2W6uNfL06YhaBonOJ5vscHFsv6-Vb0oKWVwb89-Q8nDZ_VwKGpMZk1eUIylCKsCKi39NVLq9awIdPga_-YLYdxL1e19Hw4pvp7WDsK4YvIG3crtUA/s4032/IMG_8741.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTmXCV1iyoPCqgGi7gnw_1hmMeLCcEwAUkRE07wR4Vu3fWZlFcSxKYUDjobHZF7E-fj0j3Szun2W6uNfL06YhaBonOJ5vscHFsv6-Vb0oKWVwb89-Q8nDZ_VwKGpMZk1eUIylCKsCKi39NVLq9awIdPga_-YLYdxL1e19Hw4pvp7WDsK4YvIG3crtUA/s320/IMG_8741.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBEzucIZZStO-xTnlVzh6nBrpmkz9c_BukOKSq7Atvijt8JDULoc8611Vi-qoCuTJc1oWHKCGvlKoo00Loh8zhh77NsEmjp8h3IoOgD3MAkEcojQzjSDsV1VgMVyTWCnm2XtPmMmXBv6u7FjrJr171ezPAWLHsXlUlyhgSxWuNXETBGrwMbRsJlYnfLw/s4032/IMG_8743.jpeg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBEzucIZZStO-xTnlVzh6nBrpmkz9c_BukOKSq7Atvijt8JDULoc8611Vi-qoCuTJc1oWHKCGvlKoo00Loh8zhh77NsEmjp8h3IoOgD3MAkEcojQzjSDsV1VgMVyTWCnm2XtPmMmXBv6u7FjrJr171ezPAWLHsXlUlyhgSxWuNXETBGrwMbRsJlYnfLw/s320/IMG_8743.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qiwI69tP88y6h-EZvCDndY33fRpXk6HGpYGk57BNp2J5Rtkdd1R96Y3x3ZvWJfxjFYIJvCJZFutwbxlKMLqZoEN-AZ-jdt7SqQVctoKlagc-AVpFBL4nRjo3orfNWCgkJqof5wRSeT4cYHRIamyJA2e2qij9Jv5LPUkjToLCQjs4gpHoQBvmDIKtJA/s3772/IMG_8778.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qiwI69tP88y6h-EZvCDndY33fRpXk6HGpYGk57BNp2J5Rtkdd1R96Y3x3ZvWJfxjFYIJvCJZFutwbxlKMLqZoEN-AZ-jdt7SqQVctoKlagc-AVpFBL4nRjo3orfNWCgkJqof5wRSeT4cYHRIamyJA2e2qij9Jv5LPUkjToLCQjs4gpHoQBvmDIKtJA/w320-h256/IMG_8778.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" title="chickpea stew" width="320" /></a><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2FpUAW7qtiIw4SZfoxLFiILHmP92Hnhxb6TXw5HcD_naH1NUAKVGzQD9BVsjM_HLPFr0RNTZvwgHAWsWdUaLGgSz-7-7rfpXOvyjsFZxUPBNydDW-1XaaAOzDDTLtr03SYYjjsuNTafAo_NCozEGrY0DUajuCAko2U8nshNTY5wX5KqtncT7daPAU_g/w320-h240/IMG_8766.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Night draws in as I freewheel down the canyon from CP2 and I am soon climbing a white gravel track winding towards a distant moonlit horizon. I miss the spectacular canyon views in the darkness of the descent but I sense some big drops to my left; just enough jeapardy to prevent drowsiness. </p>
<p>The following day holds promise; the Colonial Road is a highlight of the race route but first I need to resupply in the town of Tagmout. A dusty red tiled square in the centre of town is lined with stalls and shacks selling everything from a live chicken to a 6 speed bicycle chain. Locals sit around plastic tables sharing silver teapots of sweet tea indulging in the Moroccan pastime of people watching. Out the back of a grocery store I order a bean stew which is a welcome change from the usual omelette or tagine. As I eat it I hear the occasional scream from the live chicken stall, it sounds like some chickens may make it into a tagine today. </p>
<p>I roll out of town on a arrow straight dirt track along the centre of a broad plain flanked by mountains. Soon enough the track starts to wind away to my right up towards the distant heights of a furrowed mountain range. The gradient is easy barring the sections where the bridges are out. Here I throw my laden bike onto my back grabbing stem and seat post to stabilise, tired legs struggle to adjust to the extra 25 kg on my back as I stagger over the rubble of what was a bridge to cross a riverbed and climb back up to the old road. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlTAwOqxhMz9vxoj82jm046UdJOoBJz2kPbd0EI9MvZNQepR7lbbVCI-0abzQwBUYmai5itpcnJ-x3FjNat2hHPXzgMZbeQSsmayvZF3MP9D_9zUhl3bgbn9KUIv_q6iAViT_s8h2UeVSA5MbfC1zOytNEUy_jQVByeHCXVciFlPGDkhLuzYmpGau_w/s3228/IMG_8789.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlTAwOqxhMz9vxoj82jm046UdJOoBJz2kPbd0EI9MvZNQepR7lbbVCI-0abzQwBUYmai5itpcnJ-x3FjNat2hHPXzgMZbeQSsmayvZF3MP9D_9zUhl3bgbn9KUIv_q6iAViT_s8h2UeVSA5MbfC1zOytNEUy_jQVByeHCXVciFlPGDkhLuzYmpGau_w/s320/IMG_8789.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuGNy-QhBrTpj8i_zlzgUT9Ytjm3RdYyHcaMg9h7tv6nimQetc9lokWdniDGqKsESbEW53aYyiLgnd4TeT-Sfn9orhIzlNYOH84-hFqF2suyDdRlF5Q6nOxBKTDFpeSHGRUqeOkq3LYYAzsBjoOdpgNU8JoP9KyBcJFhVlSG4xCNYN_quE6CiAAEYIGw/s4032/IMG_8795.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuGNy-QhBrTpj8i_zlzgUT9Ytjm3RdYyHcaMg9h7tv6nimQetc9lokWdniDGqKsESbEW53aYyiLgnd4TeT-Sfn9orhIzlNYOH84-hFqF2suyDdRlF5Q6nOxBKTDFpeSHGRUqeOkq3LYYAzsBjoOdpgNU8JoP9KyBcJFhVlSG4xCNYN_quE6CiAAEYIGw/s320/IMG_8795.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZsJinvjtfRzOsVz9fhLkAkDnirdmNO_doBcoLd372H70jeC041hdB3L26ibq-qPbovjFGwQ6fls9SW1DODM8398XKIw1secKiANn2O-g9pzirYFWyikyqyG19Dg_q-tE43BjvbIh-ALv4lT0n31-OIfKVQMZJmiswygeyrCPMfml5fwiXFFvgcMiJQ/s4032/IMG_8799.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZsJinvjtfRzOsVz9fhLkAkDnirdmNO_doBcoLd372H70jeC041hdB3L26ibq-qPbovjFGwQ6fls9SW1DODM8398XKIw1secKiANn2O-g9pzirYFWyikyqyG19Dg_q-tE43BjvbIh-ALv4lT0n31-OIfKVQMZJmiswygeyrCPMfml5fwiXFFvgcMiJQ/w400-h300/IMG_8799.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The road is a fine piece of engineering, beautifully graded it winds to and fro around the hills slowly accumulating altitude. I catch a few other riders on the way up and we descend together as the sun retreats towards the horizon. Magic hour light finds deep shadows in the buckled strata but my eyes are down keeping me on track on my mission for a feed before nightfall. A roadside cafe in the next village feeds me and my fellow riders, I’m also pleased to tap a engineering shop up for some oil to go on my dry and squeaky chain. I leave the village loaded with supplies for the night shift which is spent climbing a gorge to a gold mine. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s minus 6 degrees at the top of the gorge, an eerie plateau traversed by massive trucks throwing plumes of red dust up into the night sky. Riders are fleas by comparison, tiny red lights creeping towards the horizon chased down by spotlit juggernauts. I’m tired but sleeping up here is a bad idea. Starting the day cold with a long descent is asking for trouble.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXaI0HZN9FhaO6Hl1wJG49capef6GZ2DIRgIM2S_VWvlKPzA6IdarDYAy4QbYv7_hS_2U5ZFN6IFL1j57QcqpY2zvqSOi9DfjYlHkr5ggq2VPerVFiUzkN8oOtfGGTO2Al6OkdU0nZ9bbPmMMhxz5Gp40EHLeTFQ9TAZ-dZR1pmU0_RP8wNmmLA3bvqg/s4032/IMG_8814.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXaI0HZN9FhaO6Hl1wJG49capef6GZ2DIRgIM2S_VWvlKPzA6IdarDYAy4QbYv7_hS_2U5ZFN6IFL1j57QcqpY2zvqSOi9DfjYlHkr5ggq2VPerVFiUzkN8oOtfGGTO2Al6OkdU0nZ9bbPmMMhxz5Gp40EHLeTFQ9TAZ-dZR1pmU0_RP8wNmmLA3bvqg/w320-h240/IMG_8814.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a>I bivvy some distance down the descent and am rewarded with a ride through a beautiful palmerie the next morning. I chase the rising sun up the valley onto a winding climb for finally warm hands and feet. Fantastic views propel me smiling all the way to CP3 in the bustling market town of Tafraout.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nrOMwEseMRzBRCe3hUm4SbnhNV26BRstfGU9cvOkaOq8sFXc4mj7M0da8uIYU4nIQMiSQECK98ZqJJJCALjrVrrreTPVeTX5-7Z3XZH8dbztAurMsvcg_Jr1RPaW-KFl3SyyYTHCPqk8K1pQ1YUFjtwNijYVURmU8QYh5IqfLmRfzy7IQfCDs1pCmQ/s4032/IMG_8826.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nrOMwEseMRzBRCe3hUm4SbnhNV26BRstfGU9cvOkaOq8sFXc4mj7M0da8uIYU4nIQMiSQECK98ZqJJJCALjrVrrreTPVeTX5-7Z3XZH8dbztAurMsvcg_Jr1RPaW-KFl3SyyYTHCPqk8K1pQ1YUFjtwNijYVURmU8QYh5IqfLmRfzy7IQfCDs1pCmQ/s320/IMG_8826.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a>The last leg, time to push on up mountain roads past trees heavy with almond blossom, dirt roads snaking between whitewashed houses and cob walled barns before dropping down a thousand feet into a wide rocky valley. I clamber up the far side of the valley at sunset via a set of switchbacks. The next village yields a cafe where I score a random meat daal and strong coffee to keep me focused through the night. As it turns out my batteries need charge so I spend a few hours in a cheap hotel before pushing on towards dawn. I have high hopes for my progress today; singletrack gives way to smooth tarmac and the miles stream by. That is until the sand. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklgT8mCOjcMnWYxo0r3AmZgR6PpFtgKYYpNWN8UoKmLM3jLpus3uMwFtwwZO6P3yFMwgl4y1VuWcwyIDjhYRiAAS0n9PzQijOcl3-c8Luy9qbuIZ3lRsrra1BaV8HLLc193KO4Ysdpk1s1lqYYm5wdwZyeqKTH7SwPv9COsYZM36O4i34cU8UZF9mxQ/s4032/IMG_8845.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklgT8mCOjcMnWYxo0r3AmZgR6PpFtgKYYpNWN8UoKmLM3jLpus3uMwFtwwZO6P3yFMwgl4y1VuWcwyIDjhYRiAAS0n9PzQijOcl3-c8Luy9qbuIZ3lRsrra1BaV8HLLc193KO4Ysdpk1s1lqYYm5wdwZyeqKTH7SwPv9COsYZM36O4i34cU8UZF9mxQ/s320/IMG_8845.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nlYoo0kQEGWdpqIDnTStQrtfNA22hB4v9PAORCkNk9HRl0xUCozbTxDKmrkHjrW0AMbtBY1w5C0Kr8kXxrEbYKre8O0TmzME4VKiQgHaxFE85-wbYIfe0-Hzp0yle_5uYXtK2UrsbvUIJ4ZoPRkBfdldBq-XNJ-fXjrPsnoRe9wJ8LjQYNk7viQdMw/s4032/IMG_8847.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nlYoo0kQEGWdpqIDnTStQrtfNA22hB4v9PAORCkNk9HRl0xUCozbTxDKmrkHjrW0AMbtBY1w5C0Kr8kXxrEbYKre8O0TmzME4VKiQgHaxFE85-wbYIfe0-Hzp0yle_5uYXtK2UrsbvUIJ4ZoPRkBfdldBq-XNJ-fXjrPsnoRe9wJ8LjQYNk7viQdMw/s320/IMG_8847.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGUyQ8Vu-BR51Q2NnsWO2zqPOv4RYyVwI1QVjUhDq0vZT5U8xVyHUgnzlTadEASxShVTbapPI1p7kaS-MlXDw1KWrgCQiadkH-PIiN0QchZUw_Y2bwj6YttUnV3D3qUFakxFNMmwbJIo1G-VzXf-aMjHsLuEMyzhAVrwSO5QHKHRpC0s7_b70V5kFNKg/s4032/IMG_8850.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGUyQ8Vu-BR51Q2NnsWO2zqPOv4RYyVwI1QVjUhDq0vZT5U8xVyHUgnzlTadEASxShVTbapPI1p7kaS-MlXDw1KWrgCQiadkH-PIiN0QchZUw_Y2bwj6YttUnV3D3qUFakxFNMmwbJIo1G-VzXf-aMjHsLuEMyzhAVrwSO5QHKHRpC0s7_b70V5kFNKg/s320/IMG_8850.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeYBPPzjSTu5npKUxYehu61uU1ESQnUajrGNaYAHqooMMJ25YLWJ03nwSLpVoQBOtt-ah4nwg_9NvJDQvI4ULoUifF9WYVhxvoyQISPpfQb_Vl2O7A2iGHVsMKQN0IsloXU_CDGGXbzhfkM-CXEJytI_cSE4dHDLfKEtZALSWmNvQ4-auJXLVdb-_9A/s4032/IMG_8857.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeYBPPzjSTu5npKUxYehu61uU1ESQnUajrGNaYAHqooMMJ25YLWJ03nwSLpVoQBOtt-ah4nwg_9NvJDQvI4ULoUifF9WYVhxvoyQISPpfQb_Vl2O7A2iGHVsMKQN0IsloXU_CDGGXbzhfkM-CXEJytI_cSE4dHDLfKEtZALSWmNvQ4-auJXLVdb-_9A/s320/IMG_8857.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6XxajJ0IpGdEAYaSKItVEUVvKFiGg4u0vglS7R-UQUlHpqd31EEnx9LwEUqVzm_nDvAuTSs1NFblEpjWbdky4LWg9Zu6PxgY0A0wKuclAcySxGQ-d6a-dIlc1pj6-EWzieQH3ROq8_IWA3sFtJZl4XvmpOdj8Lh5whlww3BqvhG_sbwXjiesXEaK-g/s4032/IMG_8861.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6XxajJ0IpGdEAYaSKItVEUVvKFiGg4u0vglS7R-UQUlHpqd31EEnx9LwEUqVzm_nDvAuTSs1NFblEpjWbdky4LWg9Zu6PxgY0A0wKuclAcySxGQ-d6a-dIlc1pj6-EWzieQH3ROq8_IWA3sFtJZl4XvmpOdj8Lh5whlww3BqvhG_sbwXjiesXEaK-g/w640-h480/IMG_8861.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkEdG--w5u5TNulZ5FA5ZdfqHM7nnf66xq1E4pe7vGKt5AaaA6L-aFtMnWZ7FhBG31pKW6FW0w_1QUb96LomXdCR_2mOVq4BXZ79Z39iLprQagmgUVUO9kFIdioAnbRmuxJTzl1pg37YLIi4xbhQhAaiy5Ei9-DJguNl1d07CHJF1_15A4EaCfAwpCg/s4032/IMG_8864.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkEdG--w5u5TNulZ5FA5ZdfqHM7nnf66xq1E4pe7vGKt5AaaA6L-aFtMnWZ7FhBG31pKW6FW0w_1QUb96LomXdCR_2mOVq4BXZ79Z39iLprQagmgUVUO9kFIdioAnbRmuxJTzl1pg37YLIi4xbhQhAaiy5Ei9-DJguNl1d07CHJF1_15A4EaCfAwpCg/w640-h480/IMG_8864.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiIk1c4ARjog5syJUFBCp7dKAp-1J16QiqN9fh0UAHseKWfaCmj6CJVfXJEzUKBmbVWrP0p9jzxspz1nJrnhgRnFYdIrDYhmZk1svReg-nRnvv84GrZJQMFh8JZaefvRUEZIN_c6AuuNMFCoXX1e8AYOOX4jwxAUjRd7aHZzOMy69Sxvn9WL2cWaWUw/s3939/IMG_8865.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiIk1c4ARjog5syJUFBCp7dKAp-1J16QiqN9fh0UAHseKWfaCmj6CJVfXJEzUKBmbVWrP0p9jzxspz1nJrnhgRnFYdIrDYhmZk1svReg-nRnvv84GrZJQMFh8JZaefvRUEZIN_c6AuuNMFCoXX1e8AYOOX4jwxAUjRd7aHZzOMy69Sxvn9WL2cWaWUw/s320/IMG_8865.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUczUwYTEbWbmPOeDeYOA78TlKatFIyAC-3rgN7FENUZgqzFS2FUYjX8B6sjKWV0QV13fqgkJlxDIl82lXuOXWb8math0e6ZgfSlGkhvvVCYqhZnR3UjdPcfZH7Y3nSJrhhKaBnQcMQ9sJkltgzUAXrtOWwkhbnYZwrWe31OGzOsJI0ODuSp20K_U4aA/s4032/IMG_8867.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUczUwYTEbWbmPOeDeYOA78TlKatFIyAC-3rgN7FENUZgqzFS2FUYjX8B6sjKWV0QV13fqgkJlxDIl82lXuOXWb8math0e6ZgfSlGkhvvVCYqhZnR3UjdPcfZH7Y3nSJrhhKaBnQcMQ9sJkltgzUAXrtOWwkhbnYZwrWe31OGzOsJI0ODuSp20K_U4aA/s320/IMG_8867.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I’ve reached a wide plain, on the far side of which are mountains which the route climbs through. But first, the sand. It starts innocuously enough on a narrow track through a farm opening out to a wider sandy road between two thorny hedges. The sand is deep, and every time I try to ride it my front wheel digs in and stops me in my tracks. I get off and push, and that’s the story for the next 7 miles. The sun climbs, podcasts are listened to and I counter my frustration by reminding myself that the sun is out and I’m not at work. </p>
<p><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6E9iiNFQT3qewVa7IImygukW5Zq1LSTpoc27nL8ZAGvWaqnZW_4HLymBqmMXfDtudgdkAXty3Hv_teSoAgS1M6KBViiWrxk2h1CXaCpBUmP-PH8sARhSRUZ9KkKejcnBg5n_ACRCxlnQVnvr8nb5Ccok_McSJUea-lvA9AbVwS5vzQaXJSiHK3hU4Q/s4032/IMG_8875.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6E9iiNFQT3qewVa7IImygukW5Zq1LSTpoc27nL8ZAGvWaqnZW_4HLymBqmMXfDtudgdkAXty3Hv_teSoAgS1M6KBViiWrxk2h1CXaCpBUmP-PH8sARhSRUZ9KkKejcnBg5n_ACRCxlnQVnvr8nb5Ccok_McSJUea-lvA9AbVwS5vzQaXJSiHK3hU4Q/s320/IMG_8875.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYtZ5R0dlgvtSf0LtHx5c-DhETeDJw0_OlfIWWCdF4fyX2X1gmLK4rYepJs_yxpHU2pPG7hNqgjmhUac0RBZbLMXi4yc5MUk3jcI3bmcVdFjg6IgSNReEpOf32vu9o14nnh2Xe5lySujaXX_sDSI4NxT1wgcWh6VZAXoWgDDhGkgTrOFAutPz4H2zrA/s4032/IMG_8872.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYtZ5R0dlgvtSf0LtHx5c-DhETeDJw0_OlfIWWCdF4fyX2X1gmLK4rYepJs_yxpHU2pPG7hNqgjmhUac0RBZbLMXi4yc5MUk3jcI3bmcVdFjg6IgSNReEpOf32vu9o14nnh2Xe5lySujaXX_sDSI4NxT1wgcWh6VZAXoWgDDhGkgTrOFAutPz4H2zrA/s320/IMG_8872.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eventually clay replaces sand and fields of crops start to line the road. Some fields are full of colourfully dressed workers harvesting crops and one field of mint smells particularly good. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_GbM0tf0V8G1n9wjPq2tjHnbEuCDuKdlzFyGRv48F399TCPJYPG95kkXk8-mbXQPXdpJVjrLfhvKTBec_aDzWOORctiA_DuCGtxa4PpLHpUqUIkiswAZeL9MpumkY1lTfV1y6rNBu2N3kOE7hp0Cd4PuwMgRWy82hnT5JHvdZWNe6LlTixG8F5wZxw/s3167/IMG_8876.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_GbM0tf0V8G1n9wjPq2tjHnbEuCDuKdlzFyGRv48F399TCPJYPG95kkXk8-mbXQPXdpJVjrLfhvKTBec_aDzWOORctiA_DuCGtxa4PpLHpUqUIkiswAZeL9MpumkY1lTfV1y6rNBu2N3kOE7hp0Cd4PuwMgRWy82hnT5JHvdZWNe6LlTixG8F5wZxw/w640-h450/IMG_8876.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj041wfQRGyOw8OUYXzgiYo95iyQ1VU2ZLsrTy7op1j9-oLmUtKL-dJXgLvh0S2TqUCzZ8PES7DfpGTuHtRngmUPXdAlcwEZfAhW0FhyRONPU_9_h_U-AvuuugDpBA6BRqzIQYW-RH7zxehxB3L8aDMCmPdSHRd5IceeXmShQiBBEDdMfhZLczXgQqkAg/s2787/IMG_8877.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj041wfQRGyOw8OUYXzgiYo95iyQ1VU2ZLsrTy7op1j9-oLmUtKL-dJXgLvh0S2TqUCzZ8PES7DfpGTuHtRngmUPXdAlcwEZfAhW0FhyRONPU_9_h_U-AvuuugDpBA6BRqzIQYW-RH7zxehxB3L8aDMCmPdSHRd5IceeXmShQiBBEDdMfhZLczXgQqkAg/w640-h514/IMG_8877.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsMWUXSh0KfXMCHBFYZCpKfXPuGiqTkgiW1zwCBMSwfWTXBu1VEv6XC5SXzxCDbmrPBh9_TUvoMqanv_EbZnbk4OIyoH9uSICgQfbd-G4ucE_h6srSuPTjZYc_0evBViw5ftgEq0c3Sgh76K_bkKCy14tEfqKfa7_o24mREloAjqNOJGz2iE8H7iFVg/s4032/IMG_8873.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsMWUXSh0KfXMCHBFYZCpKfXPuGiqTkgiW1zwCBMSwfWTXBu1VEv6XC5SXzxCDbmrPBh9_TUvoMqanv_EbZnbk4OIyoH9uSICgQfbd-G4ucE_h6srSuPTjZYc_0evBViw5ftgEq0c3Sgh76K_bkKCy14tEfqKfa7_o24mREloAjqNOJGz2iE8H7iFVg/w640-h480/IMG_8873.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8AV3reIbiuA7osG64yCjNIQzkHMyltzIm30xg7mFbhI_PsNMk1A5VzzupFvvfnb6a7CG1VdYzxAGClw-KFAmnjKLQQ99dRFyTjJ7JDTQPkxTisswK_rHcSQsppJQiqBtCWR8BfF1UcHNtiZ6shOMhQdfbNNcUpcGGjJOkj4Jq-qgJnCyeiLq5AcbKeg/s4032/IMG_8883.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8AV3reIbiuA7osG64yCjNIQzkHMyltzIm30xg7mFbhI_PsNMk1A5VzzupFvvfnb6a7CG1VdYzxAGClw-KFAmnjKLQQ99dRFyTjJ7JDTQPkxTisswK_rHcSQsppJQiqBtCWR8BfF1UcHNtiZ6shOMhQdfbNNcUpcGGjJOkj4Jq-qgJnCyeiLq5AcbKeg/s320/IMG_8883.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a>The final mountains of the route are a welcome contrast after miles of hikabike in the sand. I catch up with a few other riders late afternoon and we find a roadside restaurant serving massive cous cous filled tagines for tea. It’s just what is needed before the switchbacks of the Moroccan Stelvio. It’s late by the time I start the descent off the far side and when I stop to check the map I fall asleep by the trail. I must have fallen into a deep sleep because I’m disorientated when I wake and it takes several miles to get my thoughts together again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I follow the line on my blue line on my iPhone for several hours and eventually I reach a lake which marks the start of the finishing straight for me. OK, it’s another 50 miles to the finish but it’s rideable in a morning. My enthusiasm is only dented by the loss of an earpod. I ride 4 miles back up the route in my search for it but it’s gone along with two positions in the race results. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge2Zb0eYTG4afKpsGtObe0VFBolQ4fI8irUqtr6uHhOGwo9OAgnvwgj12e9B7Zmq_7QjvidJBayjGD8aVbPP1JUS9ObYqin7E9cL8XUSt_O5qMMwILi31lUP8OW9WdAuRNJRU6CBB3aWdsrWhf0a5EK1QtzU4_nZDVm3JW6Vv2Ng7TGp_ghado4kW27g/s3013/IMG_8896.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge2Zb0eYTG4afKpsGtObe0VFBolQ4fI8irUqtr6uHhOGwo9OAgnvwgj12e9B7Zmq_7QjvidJBayjGD8aVbPP1JUS9ObYqin7E9cL8XUSt_O5qMMwILi31lUP8OW9WdAuRNJRU6CBB3aWdsrWhf0a5EK1QtzU4_nZDVm3JW6Vv2Ng7TGp_ghado4kW27g/s320/IMG_8896.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cda2rEdWDTnOinpJlgyd1-mkZMlZiX7xXafm3Nxsroa79z_ix32FFRStglE0-CihlShc2h0mA8OrNU-roDohSf4pK3-dryEouBmgd-pWa9l46Kbhm-6YEKv-e2gtFWX_wpltH4yhFNICfiPiO9MOQMyW5de7GKcTZXzXKmDnGV0jF_B3MybAUsSOvg/s4032/IMG_8901.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cda2rEdWDTnOinpJlgyd1-mkZMlZiX7xXafm3Nxsroa79z_ix32FFRStglE0-CihlShc2h0mA8OrNU-roDohSf4pK3-dryEouBmgd-pWa9l46Kbhm-6YEKv-e2gtFWX_wpltH4yhFNICfiPiO9MOQMyW5de7GKcTZXzXKmDnGV0jF_B3MybAUsSOvg/w640-h480/IMG_8901.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6-sgCV0NNmlGwXkc6fps6kinUS4gbC72_vdTXVC-lmtYuwRF-7JU2Wvn3CSB5UD4nGh7Ex1XVhwCYb89bubmyxQIh0ZW5d1tY25nJEpfxOYbx45_1My29-PCDM2Hm_UVHPxBspYXcSBkJj1XZJI5Sa0qT9wMcEKr0YN-ZBv5RoEeEMDl3jpBuHRtmg/s4032/IMG_8903.jpeg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6-sgCV0NNmlGwXkc6fps6kinUS4gbC72_vdTXVC-lmtYuwRF-7JU2Wvn3CSB5UD4nGh7Ex1XVhwCYb89bubmyxQIh0ZW5d1tY25nJEpfxOYbx45_1My29-PCDM2Hm_UVHPxBspYXcSBkJj1XZJI5Sa0qT9wMcEKr0YN-ZBv5RoEeEMDl3jpBuHRtmg/w320-h240/IMG_8903.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_5y_lqMo_EJaZyZz4fLyba4MPptDdivF8uFxMLFPktB7gyI0Tc84tS1g4gGelP2Kq4eJqdpBITLupJx2VEGIt7w29-AXNKKXGX_e-A9sz5m8dLjBCufCmi3k4prPVo1YxJ4K9bHoOxBX8Gkktu6famjHr0VBk2IhJqDPX7b2rDbgLmBxdOTLSm1Tpw/s4032/IMG_8904.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_5y_lqMo_EJaZyZz4fLyba4MPptDdivF8uFxMLFPktB7gyI0Tc84tS1g4gGelP2Kq4eJqdpBITLupJx2VEGIt7w29-AXNKKXGX_e-A9sz5m8dLjBCufCmi3k4prPVo1YxJ4K9bHoOxBX8Gkktu6famjHr0VBk2IhJqDPX7b2rDbgLmBxdOTLSm1Tpw/w640-h480/IMG_8904.jpeg" style="border-bottom-left-radius: 10px; border-bottom-right-radius: 10px; border-radius: 10px; border-top-left-radius: 10px; border-top-right-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid black;" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I’m lucky enough to pick up a tail wind for the final miles which makes skirting through fields of Argan trees all the more pleasant. The gravel is rough in places but I’m giddy enough to overtake a couple of cars when the going gets rough. </p>
<p>I know the finish is close now, carparks are filled with motorhomes. Poodle owning pensioners vye with hungry surfers for cafe tables and campervan parking.</p>
<p>There’s a small crowd at the finish and it’s good to be in but the truth is that I wasn’t ready for this to end. It’s been a magical week and part of me would like to ride south, exploring previously mythical parts of the map. It’ll have to wait for now, I’ve spied a cold beer and I hear the hammam is worth a visit… </p><p><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Stats</h3><div>Distance: 833 miles</div><div>Climbing: 68000 vertical feet</div><div><div>Elapsed time:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>6d 19h 20m 0s</div><div>Moving time:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>5d 6h 17m 7s</div></div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">Gear</h4><div>Cannondale Topstone Carbon 1 AXS 1 x 12 prepared by Velofondista</div><div>Apidura Bags</div><div>Exposure Joystick helmet light</div><div>Exposure MaxX D front light</div><div>Folding MSC solar panel to charge battery pack</div><div>iPhone 12 running Komoot for maps and track</div><div>Source Hipster bag with 2l bladder</div><div>4 x 650B innertubes (none used)</div><div>Tubeless Hutchinson Touareg tyres </div>
Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-17751408747039712922022-11-11T09:47:00.001-08:002022-11-11T09:47:14.202-08:00Snakes and Ladders: In Search of Madeiran Gravel<p><br /> Ask anyone who’s ridden a bike on the island of Madeira and one of a couple of words will usually figure in their reply; ‘hilly’ or ‘lumpy’ are a polite understatement for what you’ll encounter on an island where many of the urban roads have gradients of 20% or more. Cars have to park with their wheels turned to full lock in case the handbrake fails; pavements are flights of stairs. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtlOIYHNf3Y_YhfyR4oToIUg_tGbbR3st0dIjHnCQDzo4rUjmB5X0P7ZD_MCyDT81bzldPaIq-F3Zu4fB-9SihcBW5qkIfCNxvuEgjxdx34ufR03nKZODWdYEsDP8EL5waUY9iqGodam2MYQVEtqjcHaB2M6mwzQBjpk407YQN_whGTYBOACaHdWuyw/s4032/IMG_2882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtlOIYHNf3Y_YhfyR4oToIUg_tGbbR3st0dIjHnCQDzo4rUjmB5X0P7ZD_MCyDT81bzldPaIq-F3Zu4fB-9SihcBW5qkIfCNxvuEgjxdx34ufR03nKZODWdYEsDP8EL5waUY9iqGodam2MYQVEtqjcHaB2M6mwzQBjpk407YQN_whGTYBOACaHdWuyw/w389-h292/IMG_2882.JPG" width="389" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKV_7SM4PDdXjEyV2eG0obEqhtdQAfYJW497NsafDRUTofdBab_f9o_HF_TlE9J9nclYee3TuM39q6kraiZDW89iTNzj-HuHmvHPr60tqK6qovc1UvZ6pMx4LGSIuTlEQ2h45MIrIY6ThkLx8GjUOCzIHD8-lfpQo5DP4xvcD5Vs13k6wW84A7ve2_w/s4032/IMG_3141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKV_7SM4PDdXjEyV2eG0obEqhtdQAfYJW497NsafDRUTofdBab_f9o_HF_TlE9J9nclYee3TuM39q6kraiZDW89iTNzj-HuHmvHPr60tqK6qovc1UvZ6pMx4LGSIuTlEQ2h45MIrIY6ThkLx8GjUOCzIHD8-lfpQo5DP4xvcD5Vs13k6wW84A7ve2_w/w221-h294/IMG_3141.JPG" width="221" /></a></div><p></p><div><br /></div><div>The lack of information about riding on Madeira should have been a warning to me. Sure, you can hire a MTB and surf the uplift but aside from that it is not a popular road or gravel biking destination despite having stunning views, varied scenery and great roads. Two weeks prior to departure a quick scan of some Madeiran maps and Google Earth showed dramatic views and proper mountains; all on an island that is only 740km2. The island is made up of a former shield volcano which rises 6km from the floor of the Atlantic ocean. A sub-tropical climate combined with fertile volcanic soil is the reason for the lush appearance of the island. Most inhabitants live close to the coast, many in houses that cling to the side of steep foothills. Main roads tunnel though mountains and leap deep gorges to circumnavigate the island.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that I rolled my bike out of the front door of my Funchal hotel in March 2022, this was going to be different!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ8HxEZyKZf5xxyW3Qu2F8NQZiYBN5WHzqU20dGWa36eus5RSQl5wASqI-p3YXINABXGS3nVMT97NmVlB3zxEpBAO6CkVlUqAbY7slLv0CtT_tlIb9FVB3Cxfu-Wv_O52P6yZry-YO14yvbAQg4O8VUtyS_vKHzQpp0Q7xQCxmkIriTkSCbf3NB5GT-A/s4032/IMG_2811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ8HxEZyKZf5xxyW3Qu2F8NQZiYBN5WHzqU20dGWa36eus5RSQl5wASqI-p3YXINABXGS3nVMT97NmVlB3zxEpBAO6CkVlUqAbY7slLv0CtT_tlIb9FVB3Cxfu-Wv_O52P6yZry-YO14yvbAQg4O8VUtyS_vKHzQpp0Q7xQCxmkIriTkSCbf3NB5GT-A/s320/IMG_2811.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PJ-hxG_dawQP1BVN6lUIcPJ66b9YBDaxyvR_ITd9tsVxLY0v__ElWWXQpKluYa5wNP0Zr_WtScioWZ-2fgDsr2N3i0pjjYov2RGWGGokdfEHpODZd9NakEtTBEKHWkdq23j97vjY42vSk38hfh0uMjBkb6fLOEO5agjJgAvXpUSTz6Qi_K2juP__Ng/s4032/IMG_2816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PJ-hxG_dawQP1BVN6lUIcPJ66b9YBDaxyvR_ITd9tsVxLY0v__ElWWXQpKluYa5wNP0Zr_WtScioWZ-2fgDsr2N3i0pjjYov2RGWGGokdfEHpODZd9NakEtTBEKHWkdq23j97vjY42vSk38hfh0uMjBkb6fLOEO5agjJgAvXpUSTz6Qi_K2juP__Ng/w180-h240/IMG_2816.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><br /></div><h2 style="text-align: left;">Day 1</h2><div>A short spin to suss out the terrain, less than 30 miles up to the second highest point on the island. The road out of Funchal (island capital) kicked straight up from sea level at a gradient of 25% for an improbable stretch. It continued at an incline of 1 in 5 to 1850ft by which point I’d exchanged the fumes and noise of the city for swishing bamboo and eucalyptus groves. I checked my average speed, 5.7mph. At this rate a 30 mile ride was going to take 4 hours. The gradient relented a little above 2000ft, skinny eucalyptuses towered over moss clad stone walls and the blue blooms of ‘pride of Madeira’ bushes flanked the roadside. The tarmac snook along the side of the mountain at a more reasonable 10% gradient, the hectic roads of the city still in view 2000 feet below; matchbox cars and toy ships at my feet.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV_OTrdBLnziEU-fSt9GuQpFboYiIuLEC-ARUy0S4kEsXryi0xNpUjcsy16-AxourgwIeOZvqsj2vXcGJbKDTcL7npPrnuF9B7YULtJ4p1I_r3W-PtpoEw3GSOezo2aHvsEe1Ivqo1gad6ariqi7p-lyhaLQMOoRoVoKz9oecuvZ0sh0F-bt16nE9qQA/s4032/IMG_2812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV_OTrdBLnziEU-fSt9GuQpFboYiIuLEC-ARUy0S4kEsXryi0xNpUjcsy16-AxourgwIeOZvqsj2vXcGJbKDTcL7npPrnuF9B7YULtJ4p1I_r3W-PtpoEw3GSOezo2aHvsEe1Ivqo1gad6ariqi7p-lyhaLQMOoRoVoKz9oecuvZ0sh0F-bt16nE9qQA/w320-h240/IMG_2812.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTP_Di_9fH5dPuESC7zy8itANCJVkbNr1RUH_KRc_DP-9PR-b1C_7DHeKMDsu-oK_j9w-BoIjadoRxdW4Wq86u5YFHhbYovFl3-5C-bBvIOgnYVSb2mnkgbXldqaT51fMRLJiINafFEG1oXqkLIue50qzCXcO_5gqo_kP3whOlXZwdfuk-WUnGnBzsoQ/s4032/IMG_6686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTP_Di_9fH5dPuESC7zy8itANCJVkbNr1RUH_KRc_DP-9PR-b1C_7DHeKMDsu-oK_j9w-BoIjadoRxdW4Wq86u5YFHhbYovFl3-5C-bBvIOgnYVSb2mnkgbXldqaT51fMRLJiINafFEG1oXqkLIue50qzCXcO_5gqo_kP3whOlXZwdfuk-WUnGnBzsoQ/w179-h239/IMG_6686.JPG" width="179" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>High above the Funchal suburb of Monte a pair of Dutch tourists told me about their bikes back home, they were glad to be driving a hire car here though. They weren’t the last visitors I met who had considered bringing or hiring a bike but changed their mind on seeing the terrain.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was a long way down to the sea from here, but further still to my destination peak. I got back on the bike and pointed my front wheel upwards, up and up until the eucalyptus gave way to pine trees and more civilised alpine switchbacks. The ‘clang’ of cowbells and smell of sheep dung was a sure sign that I was in the mountains. I spied an oversize golf ball balanced on the peak of Areiro at 5964 feet up. Crawling with tourists stealing unearned summit selfies I made an about turn and returned seaward. Gravel tyres squirming all the way back to Funchal.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKuvN5P8xUvIzXhFGu1bN0h3ThptRMpdA90GSCKq2ol-Fkt00w4JNx_xyrlnQd1C60Ijxvxpe5GEXo4xYNRwp8EeeX7lpvgsUCOmS2fw_W7Jzs9KIOQEavjXS3lSGf7rwONtY_pj4YWaMzIwfKmKKhO0N351yVajPDUsz5frDNL09D8Of1oqrfgGrDUg/s4032/IMG_2821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKuvN5P8xUvIzXhFGu1bN0h3ThptRMpdA90GSCKq2ol-Fkt00w4JNx_xyrlnQd1C60Ijxvxpe5GEXo4xYNRwp8EeeX7lpvgsUCOmS2fw_W7Jzs9KIOQEavjXS3lSGf7rwONtY_pj4YWaMzIwfKmKKhO0N351yVajPDUsz5frDNL09D8Of1oqrfgGrDUg/w289-h217/IMG_2821.JPG" width="289" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfIBNZm3bACUrQR0ZISvS48IaABRicNsirS6IR7wEwSMNOZWy6OoF9BXPiMkQ0tWi5whYWmzr3YEnaaxoTBLe6o8_v4AxP38xYqInpzRcOqAQn6qMwJa7_EEtIvtxMZm9dandvuDbII5_htTr1pry5ftshLQRFxFMjmTEqZN0hdV7c6mCgf7gL9p3Cg/s4032/IMG_2830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfIBNZm3bACUrQR0ZISvS48IaABRicNsirS6IR7wEwSMNOZWy6OoF9BXPiMkQ0tWi5whYWmzr3YEnaaxoTBLe6o8_v4AxP38xYqInpzRcOqAQn6qMwJa7_EEtIvtxMZm9dandvuDbII5_htTr1pry5ftshLQRFxFMjmTEqZN0hdV7c6mCgf7gL9p3Cg/w163-h217/IMG_2830.JPG" width="163" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXX3kLZhkOJJqPqqbQTgMroKeh7xDRF9xI8-mNOE1Sn9-1D0D0r2jJ6bEO61yxWuoRRBZGjtNIf6vApPIIRErqil5iWQ1POE37z08Cu2UgyeCSRpQ6Sn0gvRxzPns3hYiVfzFgDMgDhstJ7J9h2mtjEMiKI2OlGuLvs18UtaU2Iwba1IMUfkOjwzKcOA/s4032/IMG_2828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXX3kLZhkOJJqPqqbQTgMroKeh7xDRF9xI8-mNOE1Sn9-1D0D0r2jJ6bEO61yxWuoRRBZGjtNIf6vApPIIRErqil5iWQ1POE37z08Cu2UgyeCSRpQ6Sn0gvRxzPns3hYiVfzFgDMgDhstJ7J9h2mtjEMiKI2OlGuLvs18UtaU2Iwba1IMUfkOjwzKcOA/w289-h217/IMG_2828.JPG" width="289" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpV17j_ldytWD3h1lI3OY3pK1HVNGSoRbD3yeP8s58rCia2S27zhUNl9-eOxFB_2_QrIGxqAQuHQo3HpfGMOcFpUx4SpQfU0bO2JWlPjzxd2VYKWX0GPONCEFF23J4VrCKdg7HbjGhfraIcuftuXNiVDaW5sGFiQ7J-C7gO4UefoCuSs4-7_FmzJyK9w/s4032/IMG_2829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpV17j_ldytWD3h1lI3OY3pK1HVNGSoRbD3yeP8s58rCia2S27zhUNl9-eOxFB_2_QrIGxqAQuHQo3HpfGMOcFpUx4SpQfU0bO2JWlPjzxd2VYKWX0GPONCEFF23J4VrCKdg7HbjGhfraIcuftuXNiVDaW5sGFiQ7J-C7gO4UefoCuSs4-7_FmzJyK9w/w161-h215/IMG_2829.JPG" width="161" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiePUkWe94w887CC8lakqr-Drwyx2RWJndB890T5KoIxSAX72u-gHKENvYka3u0cpBzCPkUFpE8KxIcRL31JiX7ocdbd0Zg96Y02O9HyQ3KlAidn1CejAyvg-DC_ALQvc4RQBQeEnpZpRWGxvE5aFG-JRHt6LSJVphy5KOvchWTY9jA4HoeyI4cQ35Bw/s1061/Screenshot%202022-11-10%20at%2018.40.22.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="1061" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiePUkWe94w887CC8lakqr-Drwyx2RWJndB890T5KoIxSAX72u-gHKENvYka3u0cpBzCPkUFpE8KxIcRL31JiX7ocdbd0Zg96Y02O9HyQ3KlAidn1CejAyvg-DC_ALQvc4RQBQeEnpZpRWGxvE5aFG-JRHt6LSJVphy5KOvchWTY9jA4HoeyI4cQ35Bw/w631-h298/Screenshot%202022-11-10%20at%2018.40.22.png" width="631" /></a></div><div><br /></div><h2 style="text-align: left;">Day 2 </h2><div>Day two's riding required a change of strategy. A route out to the north eastern tip and Santana would be less vertical and cover a little more ground. Skirting the coast and expressway via the suburbs of Caniço and Santa Cruz I was soon rolling into Machico. Continuing north east a steep climb dumped me in a dark tunnel before an exhilarating winding descent to the sharpening peninsula that made up the north eastern point or Madeira. Tall, crumbling cliffs fell away from the end-of-the-road car park. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikqtiIs5PIvHkYIJjri8z1rDeQJj_C2GRBf0M3K4tnvn-LVBSlXLUQ2Rfa2aD3N0ewUqjWaC5o5s-xP4cRgEiCLYnRFz4TFLwesQBkyaX0L13NDldGwcMsuZwUPpkEXeMNebew8GNvPzuvKi3fksIDonG6q8ESsm9-nJXjhzFxiXdObk0-mFmLSJaMQ/s4032/IMG_2878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikqtiIs5PIvHkYIJjri8z1rDeQJj_C2GRBf0M3K4tnvn-LVBSlXLUQ2Rfa2aD3N0ewUqjWaC5o5s-xP4cRgEiCLYnRFz4TFLwesQBkyaX0L13NDldGwcMsuZwUPpkEXeMNebew8GNvPzuvKi3fksIDonG6q8ESsm9-nJXjhzFxiXdObk0-mFmLSJaMQ/w293-h220/IMG_2878.JPG" width="293" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_T9GdO1OsOqL4S8-l8Z-ty8qDIYrla4x-3bm0PhXe6Zrfp_tI0A8uz98L5RhknERk9L82nDv2jioWYYZE_EJuBW-1nhDlJCeF3GInngneQm5E2rHbD1yDiDWCJ2GotwYGW7jyjRLhgqGojH1d_vnuLD5X4nqWkQqvGpHC0B-4jyJ2o2Rvet3HkvrotA/s4032/IMG_2880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_T9GdO1OsOqL4S8-l8Z-ty8qDIYrla4x-3bm0PhXe6Zrfp_tI0A8uz98L5RhknERk9L82nDv2jioWYYZE_EJuBW-1nhDlJCeF3GInngneQm5E2rHbD1yDiDWCJ2GotwYGW7jyjRLhgqGojH1d_vnuLD5X4nqWkQqvGpHC0B-4jyJ2o2Rvet3HkvrotA/w293-h220/IMG_2880.JPG" width="293" /></a></div></div><br /></div><div>Looking west from this, the eastern most point on the island the northern coast appeared impenetrable. Near vertical slopes stretched from sky to ocean leaving no room for road or path. Somewhere along that coast was my next stop; the village of Santana.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh035kCns5HO8hiRK9yUfU4coZ6NRNQYU5TEh6Xgd9gYELB3zRerXrtG4kxATJQ18Lsf97MD81zu1UbO24_KH_ksmokazBObI14f22xTnLdRG7yrdkcuj-iK_MfrZzmb8zIODuLtRI5WWWqGukANHWt5tcV6WDBaL1CnkJLQ86NMPJ774uV06eDESbb-w/s4032/IMG_2885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh035kCns5HO8hiRK9yUfU4coZ6NRNQYU5TEh6Xgd9gYELB3zRerXrtG4kxATJQ18Lsf97MD81zu1UbO24_KH_ksmokazBObI14f22xTnLdRG7yrdkcuj-iK_MfrZzmb8zIODuLtRI5WWWqGukANHWt5tcV6WDBaL1CnkJLQ86NMPJ774uV06eDESbb-w/w358-h269/IMG_2885.JPG" width="358" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSDlFv4uaqPYOtDb2ZHMqRGP8ViiPOPLn5YvBw9VVr8t4EciPisXYuhrek1yf7ssivQuK-Y2wN_077OvIH9L1AxmCg3_iux45BMTqDVJRHZB-J6-vyTU77NI6OqdFDFFiqOU825f-Lza8E1kmY_TZEqw7rZHio73d_5uGlYc7R54J1MlRWjXr5eMilg/s4032/IMG_2893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSDlFv4uaqPYOtDb2ZHMqRGP8ViiPOPLn5YvBw9VVr8t4EciPisXYuhrek1yf7ssivQuK-Y2wN_077OvIH9L1AxmCg3_iux45BMTqDVJRHZB-J6-vyTU77NI6OqdFDFFiqOU825f-Lza8E1kmY_TZEqw7rZHio73d_5uGlYc7R54J1MlRWjXr5eMilg/w201-h268/IMG_2893.JPG" width="201" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh035kCns5HO8hiRK9yUfU4coZ6NRNQYU5TEh6Xgd9gYELB3zRerXrtG4kxATJQ18Lsf97MD81zu1UbO24_KH_ksmokazBObI14f22xTnLdRG7yrdkcuj-iK_MfrZzmb8zIODuLtRI5WWWqGukANHWt5tcV6WDBaL1CnkJLQ86NMPJ774uV06eDESbb-w/s4032/IMG_2885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh035kCns5HO8hiRK9yUfU4coZ6NRNQYU5TEh6Xgd9gYELB3zRerXrtG4kxATJQ18Lsf97MD81zu1UbO24_KH_ksmokazBObI14f22xTnLdRG7yrdkcuj-iK_MfrZzmb8zIODuLtRI5WWWqGukANHWt5tcV6WDBaL1CnkJLQ86NMPJ774uV06eDESbb-w/s4032/IMG_2885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh035kCns5HO8hiRK9yUfU4coZ6NRNQYU5TEh6Xgd9gYELB3zRerXrtG4kxATJQ18Lsf97MD81zu1UbO24_KH_ksmokazBObI14f22xTnLdRG7yrdkcuj-iK_MfrZzmb8zIODuLtRI5WWWqGukANHWt5tcV6WDBaL1CnkJLQ86NMPJ774uV06eDESbb-w/s4032/IMG_2885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh035kCns5HO8hiRK9yUfU4coZ6NRNQYU5TEh6Xgd9gYELB3zRerXrtG4kxATJQ18Lsf97MD81zu1UbO24_KH_ksmokazBObI14f22xTnLdRG7yrdkcuj-iK_MfrZzmb8zIODuLtRI5WWWqGukANHWt5tcV6WDBaL1CnkJLQ86NMPJ774uV06eDESbb-w/s4032/IMG_2885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I retraced my route towards Machico before taking a right turn to pick up a levada trail. The levadas were built centuries ago to collect the mountain rainfall for agriculture. These mini-canals were built from stone or concrete, follwing the mountain contours to deliver water to where it was most needed. The also make great gravel riding, little used single track trails following the contours of the mountain make great good gravel going and I rode this particular levada-side path until it dived under an expressway. There was little option but to take the expressway tunnel through the centre of the island to Santana where after a 1000 foot plus climb I arrived in the village of Santana. It wasn’t quite the tourist attraction I’d expected but there were plenty of selfie stick toting tourists nonetheless. Hire cars of visitors flocked to Santana to see the traditional red and white tent shaped houses that were a common sight on the island in centuries gone by . Triangular in profile they were built from wood and straw with only two basic rooms. The thatched straw roof shrugged off rain and kept the temperature up even during the colder times of the year. </div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHvsW8AAKRgO2P-oTl_GvoKkjOxhDs-U4ykGY23vTkq1A8-p0wL7klbE4EThVgsjoee0eCvoqzjKEvkfmfWEoz_X9JaLoXPCz3XXtAdmzoNUEAvQ6K5kDn4wdAy8f6YAZC87OQAJHuoSlo8qCenuQrwwiosFysEgU70zLBmbT7BwYHHhh3eJjYgWC0w/s4032/IMG_2897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHvsW8AAKRgO2P-oTl_GvoKkjOxhDs-U4ykGY23vTkq1A8-p0wL7klbE4EThVgsjoee0eCvoqzjKEvkfmfWEoz_X9JaLoXPCz3XXtAdmzoNUEAvQ6K5kDn4wdAy8f6YAZC87OQAJHuoSlo8qCenuQrwwiosFysEgU70zLBmbT7BwYHHhh3eJjYgWC0w/w362-h271/IMG_2897.JPG" width="362" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3N5sZrcXYvnp3G5Zr_0MWXEPwnHyWt1AnwsYtgB3D8pR_GQ3kfT_Dmz3OlncZTTAQqUbjBTDwuSSlTUWNAqp9uVw6VGpPEywlOcF-b2Zcn_mX_ANEB2QEbxxGd43BnoBi_FKLMAsuPRg7t62bFLaOsPB2hJjfbcGDgW-hzf0vLbtH-h_NVvWP62PI2w/s4032/IMG_2915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3N5sZrcXYvnp3G5Zr_0MWXEPwnHyWt1AnwsYtgB3D8pR_GQ3kfT_Dmz3OlncZTTAQqUbjBTDwuSSlTUWNAqp9uVw6VGpPEywlOcF-b2Zcn_mX_ANEB2QEbxxGd43BnoBi_FKLMAsuPRg7t62bFLaOsPB2hJjfbcGDgW-hzf0vLbtH-h_NVvWP62PI2w/w202-h269/IMG_2915.JPG" width="202" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLh7rktSFY25GfCSoDKQVFsaAgm356NbrOSh544ZMSbsiGSZscn1QPZ_YusQ-ajrn4w2MQhIlxEgfPKjcA0rD2TiN2jfGxIS2CcNgJvBn0txNE4y1IVAuE6godhvH4UFkIEHCnt4otOajBKP14H32F2U5HLieWXhN0-KdWJwOBPPL4mr3u5SbQMSG2Cw/s4032/IMG_2908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLh7rktSFY25GfCSoDKQVFsaAgm356NbrOSh544ZMSbsiGSZscn1QPZ_YusQ-ajrn4w2MQhIlxEgfPKjcA0rD2TiN2jfGxIS2CcNgJvBn0txNE4y1IVAuE6godhvH4UFkIEHCnt4otOajBKP14H32F2U5HLieWXhN0-KdWJwOBPPL4mr3u5SbQMSG2Cw/w207-h276/IMG_2908.JPG" width="207" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMHzlH4LGTeYleiJomzCvqSzXHQG9jCp9hQGIq6bsd5wSviXLZJ7hnv721SwOG2nLVRcdDDieDxTh-BpP9k5psrqxy96P1v2AZ42jokA4byOvoDbrMv9hmg7jOfxnNRVdgmGCV_wZWzaQK-JrlTAmL0LQiRpjnD9l0q82o6ZzAAOx4pXXSxgiNtQ4jQ/s4032/IMG_2916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMHzlH4LGTeYleiJomzCvqSzXHQG9jCp9hQGIq6bsd5wSviXLZJ7hnv721SwOG2nLVRcdDDieDxTh-BpP9k5psrqxy96P1v2AZ42jokA4byOvoDbrMv9hmg7jOfxnNRVdgmGCV_wZWzaQK-JrlTAmL0LQiRpjnD9l0q82o6ZzAAOx4pXXSxgiNtQ4jQ/w367-h276/IMG_2916.JPG" width="367" /></a></div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXD_15hALS4jzdeJgHvDUS6c3zQLwuhSjdCWLsQCCqkU6akPYznM7wGFvi_Ur3FqHzUCHaOXgFa7el323OQSoNJ_IJlFxFYTCiUcS5BNpu7ma3bDy-e4wTpSjQw7Zx2Zz4jUQN-AMn_p49Cig38scY5kY4rgDs22fI31gg8I_4GHIAQCrNKrrL-gpwg/s4032/IMG_2926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXD_15hALS4jzdeJgHvDUS6c3zQLwuhSjdCWLsQCCqkU6akPYznM7wGFvi_Ur3FqHzUCHaOXgFa7el323OQSoNJ_IJlFxFYTCiUcS5BNpu7ma3bDy-e4wTpSjQw7Zx2Zz4jUQN-AMn_p49Cig38scY5kY4rgDs22fI31gg8I_4GHIAQCrNKrrL-gpwg/w216-h288/IMG_2926.JPG" width="216" /></a>My return to Funchal was over the centre of the island, a long climb from sea level at Faial to the alpine Pension at Poiso. The northern slopes of the island were crammed with dense vegetation; stone walls clad in a lush carpet of moss and ferns. Overhead hung creepers, dangling limp from overhanging laurel. I climbed by road through stone hamlets clinging to a narrow ridge that led to the centre of the island. Grey cottages of stone and slate lined the road south, their monochrome palette livened up by tangles of tumbling orange nursturtiums. The constant burbling of roadside rainwater drains soundtracked my climb. </div><div>As on the previous day pine needles eventually took the place of eucalyptus leaves, broom supplanted Pride of Madeira. I didn’t need to check the altimeter on my watch, I could tell I was nearing the summit before the familiar plummet back to Funchal.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTQNVvD3dS3XRPfbDNewhJ9tZa9TLa9WodNsyQu75kcBjk8MwuWNh_dNhjz-srimk9lBZVM77TMege8P27aReLW7QJOTJoa_xQj41fwH9lKH1uWeKHnF018fjOdh1YOZRjt8F1__P9_92IOAImMthQ47dswTo3ag448FIp8x_myEQq6F8zPd5QNLRcw/s1047/Screenshot%202022-11-10%20at%2018.40.41.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="521" data-original-width="1047" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTQNVvD3dS3XRPfbDNewhJ9tZa9TLa9WodNsyQu75kcBjk8MwuWNh_dNhjz-srimk9lBZVM77TMege8P27aReLW7QJOTJoa_xQj41fwH9lKH1uWeKHnF018fjOdh1YOZRjt8F1__P9_92IOAImMthQ47dswTo3ag448FIp8x_myEQq6F8zPd5QNLRcw/w652-h324/Screenshot%202022-11-10%20at%2018.40.41.png" width="652" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><h2 style="text-align: left;">Day 3</h2><div>I was eager to discover more gravel riding and I’d spotted a route by <a href="https://welovemountains.net/on-the-search-for-gravel-routes-in-madeira/" target="_blank">Ed Shoote</a> which I wanted to try. </div><div>My version would take me south west to Ribeira Brava before diverting north through the centre of the island to Sao Vicente where I would pick up a long gravel climb to a plateau at 3000 feet.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZwmpHwrxADIEHF1ICpzaMz6KeKKKIlArHUntz9QAYUIqoul1VWmTfKuyKIkqEbGLhORH2yvURAi11Xl_vTN1qMsJr5yjEqkmB2ZQziidpe1D-6JODKJaTdzqUq00N84SOfYNZ5YgLYNqrHnoN_YNWHSosn76Hu63vyjrDs80BWBR3M0fkSINaKMRAg/s4032/IMG_2961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZwmpHwrxADIEHF1ICpzaMz6KeKKKIlArHUntz9QAYUIqoul1VWmTfKuyKIkqEbGLhORH2yvURAi11Xl_vTN1qMsJr5yjEqkmB2ZQziidpe1D-6JODKJaTdzqUq00N84SOfYNZ5YgLYNqrHnoN_YNWHSosn76Hu63vyjrDs80BWBR3M0fkSINaKMRAg/w352-h264/IMG_2961.JPG" width="352" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8cii_SzlVTE8VmUkYnSQM0sIB1fk6ZkUomP_mMdKnwofY3e3A8BX8TstdD-UEHKu6HHI-nTBVMC4X2qaXQ6jgNKh8Kfy_YnQXoX3vGQBEXqqcdC5TErA2O5U3mOkzKZ1nvZj22dj56IW9JByZCXT0UBu0p4YLgDIwrAKaMJlDq5jlLOHM7QWelCjvKA/s4032/IMG_2973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8cii_SzlVTE8VmUkYnSQM0sIB1fk6ZkUomP_mMdKnwofY3e3A8BX8TstdD-UEHKu6HHI-nTBVMC4X2qaXQ6jgNKh8Kfy_YnQXoX3vGQBEXqqcdC5TErA2O5U3mOkzKZ1nvZj22dj56IW9JByZCXT0UBu0p4YLgDIwrAKaMJlDq5jlLOHM7QWelCjvKA/w198-h264/IMG_2973.JPG" width="198" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Having left Funchal I was soon climbing up and over one of the highest sea cliffs in Europe. A right turn onto a 25% climb up a concrete driveway had me double checking Komoot’s suggested route. 1-0 to Komoot, I just needed to suck it up and climb. </div><div>Having eventually made it over the summit the road opened out and I enjoyed a fast descent to Ribeira Brava. A right turn led along a steep sided valley with mountains towering to my right and stacks of terraced strips to my left. The terrain tightened leaving the road with no option but to tunnel through the mountain ahead of me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I emerged on the north side of the island but it wasn’t long before I picked up a residential road snaking up through small vineyards and streets of white bungalows.</div><div>Above Sao Vicente the road became a track, gravel and stone carpeted in crisp fallen eucalyptus leaves. I should have counted the number of hairpins to the top of the track, loads, but there was no need - the volume of the distant ‘whoosh’ of wind turbine blades far above was my gauge of progress. A brief glance upwards revealed a near vertical slope and I couldn’t quite work out how I’d get up there.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwQkiPWMajsnCTrGRxiYUKoiFpP9PIO8nnccXWFYKDdh-vdTiPAlYuzdTkNCD5XXdmw3lViWeLJUG9LxRErYtriHRzycCh3W83QD4SO5Jw584T1CjMQd_etN-kzK4eWvVNpkdUMk0dOrc6rwYxPyPAwkT0T-0JSoBUU65YSOgzfZE3_cMtw1HZjueJg/s4032/IMG_2987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwQkiPWMajsnCTrGRxiYUKoiFpP9PIO8nnccXWFYKDdh-vdTiPAlYuzdTkNCD5XXdmw3lViWeLJUG9LxRErYtriHRzycCh3W83QD4SO5Jw584T1CjMQd_etN-kzK4eWvVNpkdUMk0dOrc6rwYxPyPAwkT0T-0JSoBUU65YSOgzfZE3_cMtw1HZjueJg/w221-h294/IMG_2987.JPG" width="221" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQhxc3uObr1mdrEzGJgcg3hkokX0qYVhCcPGXGJeGnKJn8JNvuybJ6v670s0F4YVOrCf6Y3WLKlq7m_JNN2Dcwmr6Xspg9mpEEwXVOlh10kZtn-yPBE6U-JOZUudYs4NC-hZHam1GChpo_h0YrcsCJ26lpKeUtmdItCnw21BArHP9JbY5h6bcFb0ewQ/s4032/IMG_2994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQhxc3uObr1mdrEzGJgcg3hkokX0qYVhCcPGXGJeGnKJn8JNvuybJ6v670s0F4YVOrCf6Y3WLKlq7m_JNN2Dcwmr6Xspg9mpEEwXVOlh10kZtn-yPBE6U-JOZUudYs4NC-hZHam1GChpo_h0YrcsCJ26lpKeUtmdItCnw21BArHP9JbY5h6bcFb0ewQ/w392-h294/IMG_2994.JPG" width="392" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Lizards darted to safety at every turn of my wheels, a constantly shifting rustling sound, just the occasional flash of a green scaly tail. With every completed hairpin there was a subtle change in the trees and shrubs lining the track. Over a few hundred vertical metres sub-tropical eucalyptus were replaced by laurel, palm gave way to the yellow blooms of broom and gorse.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LSZfjXOj0HsOVpHzTo3RMhx9cD6DQwlWtYgBlUHy9btQRk0eQb7aQLx1Gf7ic0aT7sMMMIWNxlBlWmQt8AJJUNO-ELA0tb555lcZpb3GYIFjOgkVg5W0e1DIsmT9ayEPldlLafK9Xgu5fmk4pCUY5P4tvo4djRaq2D-HlmVWkEP_z0AOMUGM4T-msw/s4032/IMG_2985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="415" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LSZfjXOj0HsOVpHzTo3RMhx9cD6DQwlWtYgBlUHy9btQRk0eQb7aQLx1Gf7ic0aT7sMMMIWNxlBlWmQt8AJJUNO-ELA0tb555lcZpb3GYIFjOgkVg5W0e1DIsmT9ayEPldlLafK9Xgu5fmk4pCUY5P4tvo4djRaq2D-HlmVWkEP_z0AOMUGM4T-msw/w553-h415/IMG_2985.JPG" width="553" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The track became rough, boulders bullied gravel aside and picking a line required all my attention and strength. Looking up I realised I was climbing into the cloud; damp air and a cool breeze greeting me as the terrain levelled. Rolling away from the edge of the escarpment the cloud lifted a little to reveal flat gorse moorland stretching away to meet distant low cloud. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQbrOHror4iCUiBGaXxGEfL7kO0XxtFiisjczxmx2lZq7Vif2gvTPkB-5wJsdDMcRk8mHJ8TPaIbd1W1mXiaKvwJPIbiUCaRzQcZF4-muy5vFYPC_jdBRVpR84P968hABftreFADtaC80Y493F5kT0icLv4WxRxN7HLRYFdduafgh8pfWGenhtt3bjA/s4032/IMG_3010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQbrOHror4iCUiBGaXxGEfL7kO0XxtFiisjczxmx2lZq7Vif2gvTPkB-5wJsdDMcRk8mHJ8TPaIbd1W1mXiaKvwJPIbiUCaRzQcZF4-muy5vFYPC_jdBRVpR84P968hABftreFADtaC80Y493F5kT0icLv4WxRxN7HLRYFdduafgh8pfWGenhtt3bjA/w394-h296/IMG_3010.JPG" width="394" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LTGQRaZUlaaacOkxmN6Qhtg5gjLHHAGZyy2R4lA6SscVckSu8HeMW8gAPytLtpimaSwoN0hDADNTyo1OaBRzx93ayJxHb2pRysO_4-ZpkytBEt0V2AtDmg6XgxKh1qdde-pZSVEtC34T5jpvG9sZlsfwsGyCOL-F_EgEVp5BlkJzVzaUwUScZ8AzdQ/s4032/IMG_3005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LTGQRaZUlaaacOkxmN6Qhtg5gjLHHAGZyy2R4lA6SscVckSu8HeMW8gAPytLtpimaSwoN0hDADNTyo1OaBRzx93ayJxHb2pRysO_4-ZpkytBEt0V2AtDmg6XgxKh1qdde-pZSVEtC34T5jpvG9sZlsfwsGyCOL-F_EgEVp5BlkJzVzaUwUScZ8AzdQ/w221-h295/IMG_3005.JPG" width="221" /></a> </div><div><br /></div><div>I refilled my water at a communal camp site a mile later before picking up the closed road that would return me to sea level. I lifted my bike over a chunky steel barrier with a large no entry sign and rolled down the descent dodging the boulders that littered the road. I was now back in the cloud with no idea of whether the road was passable. The first tunnel on the descent was pitch black, the road pock marked by fallen rock. The second tunnel had a crew of men with pick axes repairing the road near the exit, they didn’t seem too pleased to see me coming though…</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdwwbcHyQJvlPqYzksa3ynz-B8iHN79O266x9GZNstJHY39Msfelimf3PIHtIQrc29D1O0J6yJQ_CpyrEUl3i3CN0sI45jlyqlBQtefE0aUpNMLIoQlnm1RzRqRww-b6U7zKTxpp8uF7x7tAGVu2ovVadPZT3pKKQhyWBZgFXXR23Nqbg3o9PsAVuz3A/s4032/IMG_3015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdwwbcHyQJvlPqYzksa3ynz-B8iHN79O266x9GZNstJHY39Msfelimf3PIHtIQrc29D1O0J6yJQ_CpyrEUl3i3CN0sI45jlyqlBQtefE0aUpNMLIoQlnm1RzRqRww-b6U7zKTxpp8uF7x7tAGVu2ovVadPZT3pKKQhyWBZgFXXR23Nqbg3o9PsAVuz3A/w299-h225/IMG_3015.JPG" width="299" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGHHvN--JQiwz_ynvkuDKModlCkSI5y1AJG4pkeHECRJYEC3mpzBRCw0xFferVdCo2HBein6squFINGvvVFi7BSAZLtwV2egD893wGNeIQcUHqniUAAjE8Erizz0E8M4Y-cHO1oJk5wglgj97ZWuFqE-Z2IxDDjEQIZvWgUtSjmhiiYity2htTL9kBQ/s4032/IMG_3019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGHHvN--JQiwz_ynvkuDKModlCkSI5y1AJG4pkeHECRJYEC3mpzBRCw0xFferVdCo2HBein6squFINGvvVFi7BSAZLtwV2egD893wGNeIQcUHqniUAAjE8Erizz0E8M4Y-cHO1oJk5wglgj97ZWuFqE-Z2IxDDjEQIZvWgUtSjmhiiYity2htTL9kBQ/w299-h225/IMG_3019.JPG" width="299" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Mangled roadside crash barriers reminded me of the ‘Death Road’ on the Torino-Nice Rally route, another road closed by rockfall and persistent tragedy. Fortunately I'd escaped unscathed, I hopped another steel barrier to return to Funchal dodging tourist coaches and Piaggio Apes.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyu8NDBenWbOKQ6y7xEhuygevgTNJox9q2BiAxa-VRYGagkMLQ7tTlUl3zQMRVbtlKSTt8KCGq44IkeaOhvWpwgum55u_VZgexyWHyy5PihDhAJ-8YS2d7T1yvp5ycO1HhKT86_a-G0dtixmXSSrubGJcM-mT94GzxSzRVigN0rYv4HMIvEVMy3Hkfg/s1053/Screenshot%202022-11-10%20at%2018.41.10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="515" data-original-width="1053" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyu8NDBenWbOKQ6y7xEhuygevgTNJox9q2BiAxa-VRYGagkMLQ7tTlUl3zQMRVbtlKSTt8KCGq44IkeaOhvWpwgum55u_VZgexyWHyy5PihDhAJ-8YS2d7T1yvp5ycO1HhKT86_a-G0dtixmXSSrubGJcM-mT94GzxSzRVigN0rYv4HMIvEVMy3Hkfg/w631-h310/Screenshot%202022-11-10%20at%2018.41.10.png" width="631" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Madeira as a cycling destination requires a recalibration, you can easily climb 2000ft for every 10 miles you ride, even on the road. The levadas make excellent gravel riding but the popular ones around tourist hotspots are probably best avoided unless you enjoy stopping every thirty seconds whilst packs of pensioners re-orientate themselves. Elsewhere they are an excellent way to see the island without committing to 1000’s of feet of climbing every ride. There are also miles of old paths like the Royal Paths which survive outside urban areas. These are often built from flint and cobbles and are mainly mud free. Views and descents are hard won on Madeira and all the better for it. The island is certainly worth considering as an off season destination, it never gets uncomfortably hot or cold and it'll make you see your usual hills back home in a new light.</div><div><br /></div>Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0Madeira, Portugal32.760707400000008 -16.95947234.4504735638211628 -52.1157223 61.070941236178854 18.1967777tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-79997374052235089892022-10-24T13:57:00.008-07:002022-10-25T02:26:23.551-07:00Dirtbagging the Caminho Real 23<div data-en-clipboard="true" data-pm-slice="1 1 []" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Optimism is a powerful drug, it encourages us to take on the previously impossible. It also occasionally dumps us in the middle of nowhere on exhausted limbs in a thunderstorm. Jen and I were keen to find out where our optimism would take us during a week of adventure on the island of Madeira.</div><div data-en-clipboard="true" data-pm-slice="1 1 []" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDNx-U4OdHo-a9XIEjStqA07mb7a9ql4xTsagEfG7A_du7hNW3DgKXFm2pWAStoiwvTLtLqG4LZTpWLmpXh-U54avtHQIGBCc4ZGsOvvM9YNWdlfxVUg0kkFrZ7-265y_K_9gXq9mzfUHrFy3Kitc9L-zVOELZJG49GAM9Nu6cRlv5b3Y2rqYlji_GQ/s2926/B3D467CD-E74C-4BEA-8269-139A70BE99AE.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" data-original-height="2926" data-original-width="2194" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDNx-U4OdHo-a9XIEjStqA07mb7a9ql4xTsagEfG7A_du7hNW3DgKXFm2pWAStoiwvTLtLqG4LZTpWLmpXh-U54avtHQIGBCc4ZGsOvvM9YNWdlfxVUg0kkFrZ7-265y_K_9gXq9mzfUHrFy3Kitc9L-zVOELZJG49GAM9Nu6cRlv5b3Y2rqYlji_GQ/w240-h320/B3D467CD-E74C-4BEA-8269-139A70BE99AE.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLe-R51GqxJYSXbxjy2kfwOMeahAA7MMAOXtHb9n16Mo_odrMauONE4tZrmJWY2mEx7O0sb2mhNxVssKQMG44X92rhZ_YW0ybW6DA2WxFQIu_SR6hYzaiNv3V-yYxPox25upzqZ5mp2hB8qdvzsbZH3xftoCnPjrp0Qyp1Te7K78xduCkuk1S0-wiJg/s4032/6FC2E954-3997-418F-ACD6-BDE62830BF04.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLe-R51GqxJYSXbxjy2kfwOMeahAA7MMAOXtHb9n16Mo_odrMauONE4tZrmJWY2mEx7O0sb2mhNxVssKQMG44X92rhZ_YW0ybW6DA2WxFQIu_SR6hYzaiNv3V-yYxPox25upzqZ5mp2hB8qdvzsbZH3xftoCnPjrp0Qyp1Te7K78xduCkuk1S0-wiJg/s320/6FC2E954-3997-418F-ACD6-BDE62830BF04.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Our plan to walk around the island had coalesced during our last visit to the island, the appeal of a really basic trip carrying only the bare essentials was strong after a week in the tourist centre Funchal. So we returned in October carrying everything we might need in backpacks; tent, sleeping bag, mat and a change of clothes.</span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOZXhHD4wnBuENZq0fNfAXVEgc2hXosPj00xaGVwkfSsAIkslKQu8gMwJ7Jo4wcNgWuU3nm8t9wLmkpVZMdq0YyosBysZ03aarpbxosWZWcpvHw2xVE4RAmwnTxTC5M5mQ5BGDe0eFOXr1cb2NINBJix4nM8fg4jQmu6iFBQIHb8-5QZwO_My0ThVnQ/s4032/7EEC68E4-6C47-4DA4-9769-AD8E9A6DD782.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOZXhHD4wnBuENZq0fNfAXVEgc2hXosPj00xaGVwkfSsAIkslKQu8gMwJ7Jo4wcNgWuU3nm8t9wLmkpVZMdq0YyosBysZ03aarpbxosWZWcpvHw2xVE4RAmwnTxTC5M5mQ5BGDe0eFOXr1cb2NINBJix4nM8fg4jQmu6iFBQIHb8-5QZwO_My0ThVnQ/w200-h150/7EEC68E4-6C47-4DA4-9769-AD8E9A6DD782.jpeg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZe74aUChYyAnd9thGhtVOwVPmwVcfbVBOX1uMPh76F-M9w6nnfDlyh8EnB5sqZKSBvT7lzqBTAROhdgHGYJxanQzYXZKfEjKFI7VkYI_1kkmVoPyK4gUEjPcU6QpcYbzfTLiCQ_kUxApu-_Qdh4QKDDJBMFTV_HC-Ru-A9670cvR3Ai_Q29B0KzGRqw/s4032/8BC70E9B-F1DA-41F6-885C-9534A400E464.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZe74aUChYyAnd9thGhtVOwVPmwVcfbVBOX1uMPh76F-M9w6nnfDlyh8EnB5sqZKSBvT7lzqBTAROhdgHGYJxanQzYXZKfEjKFI7VkYI_1kkmVoPyK4gUEjPcU6QpcYbzfTLiCQ_kUxApu-_Qdh4QKDDJBMFTV_HC-Ru-A9670cvR3Ai_Q29B0KzGRqw/w200-h150/8BC70E9B-F1DA-41F6-885C-9534A400E464.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRd3EnT2jmRF1Fr4ajq8uCzRp-Koq6_faNCaWKlrK4Aqcp_DpKNYJW9iEofNKxjYflsfCFm24vludWNcJ3D4ykU8_zWQA-OOYq-vRN71tuiYRsLG0qWOo3mR7oKWTDm91vJi_uEQqagZeXvsPAz7yxLu-2Qh5ZkAcDEfTrLv0BybkDpWzQvwCyN4A_w/s4032/27C60E1F-A30E-4F2D-A61A-FA6727852A02.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRd3EnT2jmRF1Fr4ajq8uCzRp-Koq6_faNCaWKlrK4Aqcp_DpKNYJW9iEofNKxjYflsfCFm24vludWNcJ3D4ykU8_zWQA-OOYq-vRN71tuiYRsLG0qWOo3mR7oKWTDm91vJi_uEQqagZeXvsPAz7yxLu-2Qh5ZkAcDEfTrLv0BybkDpWzQvwCyN4A_w/w435-h326/27C60E1F-A30E-4F2D-A61A-FA6727852A02.jpeg" width="435" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9neau7MCfzoj3Pj-tQ8BRAOwVfACwVvVmzqvVB4ckaIMp1XYro_c3zSXqA_Alxjlu3ZovhPmkaU37EyhAsPCIZfravEBllNi3wwVdtuJCpfQu0aED6iwVSwJHwll879hon2mhnRAXPUsyQvw7qPOrGIYDd6XEwtx2Qy0kbg3cV63R0CUOPVFHLF5dQ/s4032/32B2D832-6CCE-4463-B877-A13D89018B65.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9neau7MCfzoj3Pj-tQ8BRAOwVfACwVvVmzqvVB4ckaIMp1XYro_c3zSXqA_Alxjlu3ZovhPmkaU37EyhAsPCIZfravEBllNi3wwVdtuJCpfQu0aED6iwVSwJHwll879hon2mhnRAXPUsyQvw7qPOrGIYDd6XEwtx2Qy0kbg3cV63R0CUOPVFHLF5dQ/w181-h240/32B2D832-6CCE-4463-B877-A13D89018B65.jpeg" width="181" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi005gQs39I7ezEzS2Z0vSjVWjuJ-b2epzVL4uxnDAaIr-gI-s1uNa3fEQvmPCG63l0eS5U5c-8TrTTeK7qwKJotxUrp_RtSDHCYrwxPKKWlLiejbqVdbtxLdW-U_PxEtv6CnIL_NBOWAVXPShnNff647qxHy7A5KayZMtU3bi2wFabR1x0GRMO8GXTTQ/s4032/541874D0-8167-48F8-A111-381D15D2A1FB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi005gQs39I7ezEzS2Z0vSjVWjuJ-b2epzVL4uxnDAaIr-gI-s1uNa3fEQvmPCG63l0eS5U5c-8TrTTeK7qwKJotxUrp_RtSDHCYrwxPKKWlLiejbqVdbtxLdW-U_PxEtv6CnIL_NBOWAVXPShnNff647qxHy7A5KayZMtU3bi2wFabR1x0GRMO8GXTTQ/s320/541874D0-8167-48F8-A111-381D15D2A1FB.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Carrying less than 10kg apiece we strode out of Funchal one Tuesday morning in early October. Leaving the diesel fumes and secondhand cigarette smoke of the city behind was no hardship, we were finding our way along the south coast of the island through steep terraces of strawberries, tomatoes and salad leaves to the banana laden slopes of the south west. Along the way we found the odd ripe strawberry or fig to keep us going up the 20% ramps of Quinta Grande. Sun bathing lizards darted into crevices at every step and we stepped over a massive caterpillar. At Madalena do Mar we were treated to fresh bananas by locals, we must have looked hungry.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FJbUxobxvb26Nfu5Vg0GP7Hxi6DuxquPf8LsTNXPABSQ5JGuUeblw9vbjbip8qZK_bDHXBPszQGrE5l8gKXta2irYoKoOkEeEMMsLVx_WgoqunfyoT3qH0QUiBtJqDAQ-pgEpBt_hwJIhf9fBqScB8KPDHJRG_H5u3pvtlA04ZlfsVsM65QIUYhE3Q/s2049/1FAD4FE0-F792-42F7-9425-491BFF3DCAB6.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1537" data-original-width="2049" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FJbUxobxvb26Nfu5Vg0GP7Hxi6DuxquPf8LsTNXPABSQ5JGuUeblw9vbjbip8qZK_bDHXBPszQGrE5l8gKXta2irYoKoOkEeEMMsLVx_WgoqunfyoT3qH0QUiBtJqDAQ-pgEpBt_hwJIhf9fBqScB8KPDHJRG_H5u3pvtlA04ZlfsVsM65QIUYhE3Q/s320/1FAD4FE0-F792-42F7-9425-491BFF3DCAB6.jpeg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJNs7XveN-ByYvym_pQt76Us9os8uwkgYF1lFTvUb3Q5V-5s3alK1sEl3Q7P-qGRvF73IBX3ODl1gweIR-3edg_fEGAUgwD3RE4lVhTkxaDw80io_W1akqRB26ld1hx6HbsOS6osqxMUygzFhzzKs5TPmbxYW7YYvqBNVMWo1oMghOC3KgTC9vRXuVA/s2049/1BDE7D71-7127-49D9-AEDE-AD07D0A69486.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2049" data-original-width="1537" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJNs7XveN-ByYvym_pQt76Us9os8uwkgYF1lFTvUb3Q5V-5s3alK1sEl3Q7P-qGRvF73IBX3ODl1gweIR-3edg_fEGAUgwD3RE4lVhTkxaDw80io_W1akqRB26ld1hx6HbsOS6osqxMUygzFhzzKs5TPmbxYW7YYvqBNVMWo1oMghOC3KgTC9vRXuVA/w181-h241/1BDE7D71-7127-49D9-AEDE-AD07D0A69486.jpeg" width="181" /></a></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We climbed out of Madeira's banana capital spurred on by the yapping ankle nipping hounds which were a constant feature of our hike. With the sun sinking behind the horizon we strode down the hill to Calheta arriving in the wealthy resort as darkness fell. A posh fish supper and a night lurking in the shadows of the park were on the cards. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14mQ21ObHmNwbdi16kshtPXYX976iMMeCO4WfQ2ZnC_J59IEn2VlsnQ5-YI-KyaCAQr8kK8ICJuDsN_8r39GzHoZnNhC5_OkjUDEwCF6Bv_zBPB-DKufSpLazuQpj-q-XnOr6iZs3JuykEeuHNOaWcx0-QR7zALPSWaoeIwg7njjLtFpU5_aPyKslFQ/s4032/IMG_6594.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14mQ21ObHmNwbdi16kshtPXYX976iMMeCO4WfQ2ZnC_J59IEn2VlsnQ5-YI-KyaCAQr8kK8ICJuDsN_8r39GzHoZnNhC5_OkjUDEwCF6Bv_zBPB-DKufSpLazuQpj-q-XnOr6iZs3JuykEeuHNOaWcx0-QR7zALPSWaoeIwg7njjLtFpU5_aPyKslFQ/w240-h320/IMG_6594.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqIg-9gsfwC-5MmHehqT4H2VLRsA9ANkw4Og79Sp1n19W0vuQYl8TRzyVErHRdCgcg1F1mT9wqECf33yohckGXZU0A3Zv_eMBNe8xR14nIQ0zK1V5giRp_D2ZwND_tZs_eIK8nY8LOEV-KwaSmeutcQbxXyqG547QHpcvYgGASbxB4BmNi57DnQbaQ_g/s4032/IMG_6597.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqIg-9gsfwC-5MmHehqT4H2VLRsA9ANkw4Og79Sp1n19W0vuQYl8TRzyVErHRdCgcg1F1mT9wqECf33yohckGXZU0A3Zv_eMBNe8xR14nIQ0zK1V5giRp_D2ZwND_tZs_eIK8nY8LOEV-KwaSmeutcQbxXyqG547QHpcvYgGASbxB4BmNi57DnQbaQ_g/s320/IMG_6597.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNXgDuKCFRtDlyqgXpPWEiHnnINM5LPEVY34xJnkfzT2_X2e4U0O56BLiYqtXrpsym0jEzugZ-dmscV4kIz-3jwuWY_DkBYPE6N4AMKmDpDdAoXYTgxiHYNiQH4h_68Jwr8z-VRI32fG-_vwb1NGPYyi3JOkU5HIWw6MUadcYLPHPlcry06C-KavFZA/s4032/IMG_6616.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNXgDuKCFRtDlyqgXpPWEiHnnINM5LPEVY34xJnkfzT2_X2e4U0O56BLiYqtXrpsym0jEzugZ-dmscV4kIz-3jwuWY_DkBYPE6N4AMKmDpDdAoXYTgxiHYNiQH4h_68Jwr8z-VRI32fG-_vwb1NGPYyi3JOkU5HIWw6MUadcYLPHPlcry06C-KavFZA/s320/IMG_6616.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOLmtoRy9gykNVvrUEmIf5bhWHmVygCTnT-ZG8hEfKoz_7_6iLivKzIYmNlcCXEf6F9GBVMRZz7EpeN9c0_Gere0YcMPNngyrn1YMN_eAaSFbH3JjhnyD9UbXpDTKiwuQmsSQdoFbEDlC2OiNOY3eGpB3o7zc7p8VkNa-zwHw9zWP8jlISYl-OH51cA/s4032/IMG_6620.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOLmtoRy9gykNVvrUEmIf5bhWHmVygCTnT-ZG8hEfKoz_7_6iLivKzIYmNlcCXEf6F9GBVMRZz7EpeN9c0_Gere0YcMPNngyrn1YMN_eAaSFbH3JjhnyD9UbXpDTKiwuQmsSQdoFbEDlC2OiNOY3eGpB3o7zc7p8VkNa-zwHw9zWP8jlISYl-OH51cA/w180-h240/IMG_6620.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FC3CJ73rJAwt4snoJAgWHxDpTOOuTAgKM6q4wAJ9zL5STz34dbhYpJTat5lou_LXmFWl6Akel88pv_eI-bTO6Fnq3orZyUX317SOa31cpPn2qXz7H-dAzkwiM_bGqcGwlG4torElEMSXhL8_L4vL4AAeLkayMJpo4GD9eBuXmEziyB2CD7EBQEcR-Q/s4032/IMG_6632.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FC3CJ73rJAwt4snoJAgWHxDpTOOuTAgKM6q4wAJ9zL5STz34dbhYpJTat5lou_LXmFWl6Akel88pv_eI-bTO6Fnq3orZyUX317SOa31cpPn2qXz7H-dAzkwiM_bGqcGwlG4torElEMSXhL8_L4vL4AAeLkayMJpo4GD9eBuXmEziyB2CD7EBQEcR-Q/w180-h241/IMG_6632.JPG" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFCGtopDjtnESxiLjJNNN8FS_ms2ihWlBYH9x9pXxF73yip12AGtjM0xkgV1zxsW1jE1KPaVG6Ro3rIKoDfMdP5hDsbz_5glB_1yolMPVT5_fo9oaEqo2yBBlP_MW-DxMVXUJP94ZIwS1yrVeXrZaX4n3n1wqziLm32VY3MGO7ivMoTfITuMdNWQrPQ/s4032/IMG_6652.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFCGtopDjtnESxiLjJNNN8FS_ms2ihWlBYH9x9pXxF73yip12AGtjM0xkgV1zxsW1jE1KPaVG6Ro3rIKoDfMdP5hDsbz_5glB_1yolMPVT5_fo9oaEqo2yBBlP_MW-DxMVXUJP94ZIwS1yrVeXrZaX4n3n1wqziLm32VY3MGO7ivMoTfITuMdNWQrPQ/s320/IMG_6652.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We picked a bivvy spot in a small copse of trees thinking that we were unlikely to be spotted by passersby. It was the most manicured lawn we’d seen since our arrival on the island, perfect for a good night’s sleep. At least it would have been if the automated sprinkler system had been turned off. Shortly after 5AM Jen grabbed me shouting ‘MOVE! You’re going to get soaked!’. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;">It was still dark but wide awake we set off walking, leaving the imported golden sand and yachts of Calheta to get a headstart on the 600m climb up to Prazeres. Seeing the dawn light up the sky overhead as we climbed through surburbs of whitewashed walls and terracotta roofs was a treat. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OyGl2cenDeWPyJUBisUKU-M49woEVFbZmGSML7ej0eeKIavxr91U_URwlcy6uX0tx4Y7nfKlqFO0AnzOZ2UFNfwIKX2XM1ESf43LYYpMEwuUVkKua-NJs6J6-ppHlY3w1fZGvuZY28vydOt44LOTQIhC9Q1nhTIl16KLHZwiSV1fvDdP8SY7qvdSjw/s4032/IMG_6666.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OyGl2cenDeWPyJUBisUKU-M49woEVFbZmGSML7ej0eeKIavxr91U_URwlcy6uX0tx4Y7nfKlqFO0AnzOZ2UFNfwIKX2XM1ESf43LYYpMEwuUVkKua-NJs6J6-ppHlY3w1fZGvuZY28vydOt44LOTQIhC9Q1nhTIl16KLHZwiSV1fvDdP8SY7qvdSjw/s320/IMG_6666.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaaNnvyFpDqKEvo7PFxiG8OthtijfVmdHg64t8v7Lm9EshDMmyh9i-Zv7tBqLz2LsHI_q5GDfBQAWoQN89TbXQTqfpHfQR9fnxOxalzgGe-TWNQp08u8pZoeckPnL-tyQPLqaZa0-IH7aieEHVKPxhY-aIwew8wpGk_uSCIu8M8lFGhhQjd4ON2FXXg/s4032/IMG_6664.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaaNnvyFpDqKEvo7PFxiG8OthtijfVmdHg64t8v7Lm9EshDMmyh9i-Zv7tBqLz2LsHI_q5GDfBQAWoQN89TbXQTqfpHfQR9fnxOxalzgGe-TWNQp08u8pZoeckPnL-tyQPLqaZa0-IH7aieEHVKPxhY-aIwew8wpGk_uSCIu8M8lFGhhQjd4ON2FXXg/w180-h240/IMG_6664.JPG" width="180" /></a></div></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfl4InkJo_3GiMVZSYul2YJoAsZVeKc_2U_jzmx4dsLOmIFot4dOr7JBn0Xese7l3o5aX4ADMCL_3Wo1fqmDiq29xksqf178eXKMfYyQ9CYkNu044XjTj0KBZhzghoE-Gkc3OVLwm4pA3nKlL6daAcJ-5S67I-Ac-kbotTlOPQYeyS_65YIjULxNQK2A/s4032/IMG_6673.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfl4InkJo_3GiMVZSYul2YJoAsZVeKc_2U_jzmx4dsLOmIFot4dOr7JBn0Xese7l3o5aX4ADMCL_3Wo1fqmDiq29xksqf178eXKMfYyQ9CYkNu044XjTj0KBZhzghoE-Gkc3OVLwm4pA3nKlL6daAcJ-5S67I-Ac-kbotTlOPQYeyS_65YIjULxNQK2A/s320/IMG_6673.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnpTrSooVQ6RlqPbYzQ3BQzMo9KzcLZ1Sd0ujn0R9h2i2jO-dJSUXCvudpUP0ohbo8IIkajmJ7bwomNhZjbYpj1K1OfHH5K6oX6_peWQbgpSovJRpW5hZZI-oVV-ltxt6rbttZ6EnQikGrpQLzOa2fFefORK40EXCq6py_t8CExNCeqg5tz9QlUnjyQ/s4032/IMG_6682.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnpTrSooVQ6RlqPbYzQ3BQzMo9KzcLZ1Sd0ujn0R9h2i2jO-dJSUXCvudpUP0ohbo8IIkajmJ7bwomNhZjbYpj1K1OfHH5K6oX6_peWQbgpSovJRpW5hZZI-oVV-ltxt6rbttZ6EnQikGrpQLzOa2fFefORK40EXCq6py_t8CExNCeqg5tz9QlUnjyQ/s320/IMG_6682.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The morning light brought the red flowers which tumbled over lily-white walls and into the street to life. Little by little blue pride of Madeira plants and eucalyptus trees took the place of houses until we were marching through a wood, dwarfed by the towering blue leafed eucalyptuses with their peelin, striped trunks. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSdTGf5OGetf2NQGso9vGKsI6uZs_B4Wthep2t-GSJvYSoaXisa7cIpqcvm4z06MGw5aYihD_B4gkwrW2vLyN2kYmCx5TctKYmuq08fRhBWGL5sBktoRU9qiziFw7q75bX8dnM_Ewgc2yt1j38urMepMD503NQUJOpT3HOrEW5wa23xomxa06nLzcMw/s4032/IMG_6686.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSdTGf5OGetf2NQGso9vGKsI6uZs_B4Wthep2t-GSJvYSoaXisa7cIpqcvm4z06MGw5aYihD_B4gkwrW2vLyN2kYmCx5TctKYmuq08fRhBWGL5sBktoRU9qiziFw7q75bX8dnM_Ewgc2yt1j38urMepMD503NQUJOpT3HOrEW5wa23xomxa06nLzcMw/s320/IMG_6686.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDYPeQyKL6pg11xtdRNxx2_4NYw8Dg_lIM4oAMnvqzYTNxta-3MUoezhX49Kn1yv4ZXGaQV9VCv1o-WonHJDka9W6YoLYTTWMnTHjRU3ZPVO0ewXQFaPGjToe4aXFXO9fmVYZFQd8u0i8rvip46LoWY1lgWOIhHTwIaVclGFLy0wpWJM_Y3BHLV4i9A/s4032/IMG_6689.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDYPeQyKL6pg11xtdRNxx2_4NYw8Dg_lIM4oAMnvqzYTNxta-3MUoezhX49Kn1yv4ZXGaQV9VCv1o-WonHJDka9W6YoLYTTWMnTHjRU3ZPVO0ewXQFaPGjToe4aXFXO9fmVYZFQd8u0i8rvip46LoWY1lgWOIhHTwIaVclGFLy0wpWJM_Y3BHLV4i9A/s320/IMG_6689.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0T-Y4vyMA4BFcaG-sut3el52gs91jqVt2TU5ZJzfemD4gi1XmaVLNZMSY4YxC0ySDPvcib2xHfRsYi75r9K0OIMj1ug9pDeu02r5Q5LR1wXA-pxl8H8yNMPwkEQ97GKLmWcgv4FlwFkj-eT0dJIEz1TZKqa1Ig8YNHgw_0J8ige4nzynYolXlxaWXg/s3862/IMG_6693.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3862" data-original-width="2754" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0T-Y4vyMA4BFcaG-sut3el52gs91jqVt2TU5ZJzfemD4gi1XmaVLNZMSY4YxC0ySDPvcib2xHfRsYi75r9K0OIMj1ug9pDeu02r5Q5LR1wXA-pxl8H8yNMPwkEQ97GKLmWcgv4FlwFkj-eT0dJIEz1TZKqa1Ig8YNHgw_0J8ige4nzynYolXlxaWXg/s320/IMG_6693.jpg" width="228" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6BZt1XFCmOBIZ4IU7tsm1me5eRbPuvAnKD21t3Nn-xmwzka7R2YeWHoPgy_AaxYjvL-jWnpKO8cCYoRZwyXi7CExBaE6x2b6eZIUOeoacFqZiT2Qm-AM_vxGAkJV8xHwc4fpd4yOphFPK0pAK3YI_b6nQTaT_5MFwaZVxsisqusSWe0M8MMrJ8cg_A/s4032/IMG_6694.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6BZt1XFCmOBIZ4IU7tsm1me5eRbPuvAnKD21t3Nn-xmwzka7R2YeWHoPgy_AaxYjvL-jWnpKO8cCYoRZwyXi7CExBaE6x2b6eZIUOeoacFqZiT2Qm-AM_vxGAkJV8xHwc4fpd4yOphFPK0pAK3YI_b6nQTaT_5MFwaZVxsisqusSWe0M8MMrJ8cg_A/w382-h286/IMG_6694.JPG" width="382" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">By mid-morning we were staring down a precipitous ravine to a distant fishing village. The path to Paul do Mar plunged downwards at an unfeasible rate until it met the sea. We couldn’t start to guess how the path would descend the loose earth and rock above the village but descend we must. I couldn’t imagine how the path had been built at the end of the 19th century, why would anyone try and find a route down here? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKJj7CZ30qlRoq89BYl353h8XPkfXX2wMVL5pbG835IXvifF6YUhE0e3q-ZaAVXvRUtkM7iRUsLnnEgKmzw2gJx0QOUcjHFzOBfkZW1WZIApGmSe5Gn8xSgiSrUCWA9hohf6-4hJ2pcErCtq7PLupnzVhgYFbYAO9C40hMG2A8x5jr4EVyiMSJh5gZA/s4032/IMG_6708.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKJj7CZ30qlRoq89BYl353h8XPkfXX2wMVL5pbG835IXvifF6YUhE0e3q-ZaAVXvRUtkM7iRUsLnnEgKmzw2gJx0QOUcjHFzOBfkZW1WZIApGmSe5Gn8xSgiSrUCWA9hohf6-4hJ2pcErCtq7PLupnzVhgYFbYAO9C40hMG2A8x5jr4EVyiMSJh5gZA/s320/IMG_6708.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QoPsTyezFdLtl-SjCJv_2wqDVPKUaGOXgTdsY3BcCubcLJNtxcbv3iG47EQ0JSh4HVoUwOHtQebQJHwyc5bpSAfDP0UWtAavhuRMpyZ4YQUgvItKFshd3FSLhizRScVMzEKJaatRc--i2KaVpAnb5Jv9LPzGLfBQJFCN6VEwkaH4Feyu108rjzCmMg/s4032/IMG_6712.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QoPsTyezFdLtl-SjCJv_2wqDVPKUaGOXgTdsY3BcCubcLJNtxcbv3iG47EQ0JSh4HVoUwOHtQebQJHwyc5bpSAfDP0UWtAavhuRMpyZ4YQUgvItKFshd3FSLhizRScVMzEKJaatRc--i2KaVpAnb5Jv9LPzGLfBQJFCN6VEwkaH4Feyu108rjzCmMg/s320/IMG_6712.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JNoFKUKVtPtnEalW_E2ktEB8cCKegaEVMzL0swcQzNY0AE6ZHx-wtUHHgSIxvl60glJvCIM4zZjFTW2j4ShlQvoE0UK2PoIEMkXHoyin2nCgl-hN-KHke7F3HrbeovhYgAVKUGNbBiTBuhgBneKovO_IYcKS_QfGTqaOLLiQ3inds1ib4w3FTAC_HQ/s4032/IMG_6726.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JNoFKUKVtPtnEalW_E2ktEB8cCKegaEVMzL0swcQzNY0AE6ZHx-wtUHHgSIxvl60glJvCIM4zZjFTW2j4ShlQvoE0UK2PoIEMkXHoyin2nCgl-hN-KHke7F3HrbeovhYgAVKUGNbBiTBuhgBneKovO_IYcKS_QfGTqaOLLiQ3inds1ib4w3FTAC_HQ/w178-h237/IMG_6726.JPG" width="178" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkrgDJSX_hEvdEs1OV7aJrBrcjdkyHmrc8LOjYlLRs2NEWivCn8MRO4DslnDp3n1YcEfjDU_dYELeF6P23itYhyLNbo7_XwBCQlgsxFnX_Pv37GubhIsdEopCb1VDI7bp4G3t0rCLfol8Nq2Dci8bV2rk6Hl5jJtZWvXAw2YxYg7iX83p0KaUz_e_Grg/s4030/IMG_6732.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2719" data-original-width="4030" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkrgDJSX_hEvdEs1OV7aJrBrcjdkyHmrc8LOjYlLRs2NEWivCn8MRO4DslnDp3n1YcEfjDU_dYELeF6P23itYhyLNbo7_XwBCQlgsxFnX_Pv37GubhIsdEopCb1VDI7bp4G3t0rCLfol8Nq2Dci8bV2rk6Hl5jJtZWvXAw2YxYg7iX83p0KaUz_e_Grg/w351-h237/IMG_6732.jpg" width="351" /></a></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Apparently the King of Portugal decreed the building of the Caminho Real 23 in the late 19th century. Many villages were at that time only accessible by boat, relying on favourable weather for trade and deliveries of essentials. We felt the pain of those first travellers on this Royal Path as we climbed down the cobbled steps balancing our 10kg packs behind us. We were rewarded in the fishing village of Paul do Mar with freshly baked pastries and custard tarts, perfect re-fuelling before the equally steep switchbacked climb up the cliff and out of the village towards the western most point of island. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xHVc3o9V7oPMl2hepoYrOQchmFXm6hCp3yMBdfjZ6MfFpvUPIsZM3MsBRwEh-Sarhc5zGqWI0c2GNQQ_xEy3X9ML4zVBbQCxTDBVKQ1O6WQ54A01oT4V80kzsZBZEKKda7KVG8Mlr_clmLG2vmU7hJ9bUgU8ZA1YGs4qTMLeKTap5pgGs0Q_8t-a-Q/s4032/IMG_6733.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xHVc3o9V7oPMl2hepoYrOQchmFXm6hCp3yMBdfjZ6MfFpvUPIsZM3MsBRwEh-Sarhc5zGqWI0c2GNQQ_xEy3X9ML4zVBbQCxTDBVKQ1O6WQ54A01oT4V80kzsZBZEKKda7KVG8Mlr_clmLG2vmU7hJ9bUgU8ZA1YGs4qTMLeKTap5pgGs0Q_8t-a-Q/s320/IMG_6733.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqs0loBsTFm9RZJsU_sFYP7JiluJ6HnaeDnNQm5k_ZiBzz9t20wJgZUw6mH7xxxGMOetlz1B72bkXrTINwLF0HiE2vbCRQhBsvv3k1hyNWUTnAe3peFzZOVXyJxc5iMpu745uo-kdeWHesNsIQaazb0D1KpNWfDqUAAD1li0kFnMUxXVG5YQPyqh8Lg/s4032/IMG_6746.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqs0loBsTFm9RZJsU_sFYP7JiluJ6HnaeDnNQm5k_ZiBzz9t20wJgZUw6mH7xxxGMOetlz1B72bkXrTINwLF0HiE2vbCRQhBsvv3k1hyNWUTnAe3peFzZOVXyJxc5iMpu745uo-kdeWHesNsIQaazb0D1KpNWfDqUAAD1li0kFnMUxXVG5YQPyqh8Lg/s320/IMG_6746.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjueZ8GVsloHdBO-anh293CrT37OPAR1NqvBaFU8FebNN3qQmz9Mu9c9huhV5Ad8tNGAahDfzCweHrR6X-q3KrzoZA5vLTdQGQM0U_bm5qbUQtmuT7FuqOf6mENqWhEijm97l8jxF58q4u-wzWNp0KTlnyaSBS7P1RwGELj2k7RSR__PAczm0eNskieUQ/s4032/IMG_6751.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjueZ8GVsloHdBO-anh293CrT37OPAR1NqvBaFU8FebNN3qQmz9Mu9c9huhV5Ad8tNGAahDfzCweHrR6X-q3KrzoZA5vLTdQGQM0U_bm5qbUQtmuT7FuqOf6mENqWhEijm97l8jxF58q4u-wzWNp0KTlnyaSBS7P1RwGELj2k7RSR__PAczm0eNskieUQ/s320/IMG_6751.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOXu2zHluoxK52V916M_5Ju9ZM1NDY2mLypeSdlUEgQpyNugesYXOIvipRKnbwcBFhFw7hQO9YFFMmKLOZVvCP-hL_xrRMQ6XQThKkWvdCdjjnjNkpfqTPg11zLDWZhoETSw48llDvQ7cH1SSSmHhPNKs22_BwrILIiNXvh_YeiyHWuufmLwAr2jhpA/s4032/IMG_6753.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOXu2zHluoxK52V916M_5Ju9ZM1NDY2mLypeSdlUEgQpyNugesYXOIvipRKnbwcBFhFw7hQO9YFFMmKLOZVvCP-hL_xrRMQ6XQThKkWvdCdjjnjNkpfqTPg11zLDWZhoETSw48llDvQ7cH1SSSmHhPNKs22_BwrILIiNXvh_YeiyHWuufmLwAr2jhpA/w180-h239/IMG_6753.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy51pXr1TAb81Mcz4KccNt3rr-diavg948qlh5TZJktbEu9Q7RKAvILeNr6OVfI6HJWDnwnHFyPuMD7hwCqMFbMycjULa6_pZOR6EW5wRjEjmEpAyKNZnpQpwq4uBUSeN85KyQbLrP-2QhVu6LF6fNeT5QjtjWOgCpxIUtayb1j_E682_4sLcuXQTGHA/s4032/IMG_6777.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy51pXr1TAb81Mcz4KccNt3rr-diavg948qlh5TZJktbEu9Q7RKAvILeNr6OVfI6HJWDnwnHFyPuMD7hwCqMFbMycjULa6_pZOR6EW5wRjEjmEpAyKNZnpQpwq4uBUSeN85KyQbLrP-2QhVu6LF6fNeT5QjtjWOgCpxIUtayb1j_E682_4sLcuXQTGHA/s320/IMG_6777.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24w7vNbMeaTgX0z2LK9lmtYqzsFcvg5ikUr0Hbc0x3v56bK_VopkBFauUJXjUb7xARb95lMh5JxcqrWZSujMXZDYzkW8mms8ELoafslzzQQ4lRdqWZAE2EEV7AYmc1dYOAUZ3YTplv5bUiW1cF5hlhhiMPU21Wx-PwawdISkDNtrYM0Ool12m4BXs4Q/s4032/IMG_6782.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24w7vNbMeaTgX0z2LK9lmtYqzsFcvg5ikUr0Hbc0x3v56bK_VopkBFauUJXjUb7xARb95lMh5JxcqrWZSujMXZDYzkW8mms8ELoafslzzQQ4lRdqWZAE2EEV7AYmc1dYOAUZ3YTplv5bUiW1cF5hlhhiMPU21Wx-PwawdISkDNtrYM0Ool12m4BXs4Q/w180-h240/IMG_6782.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Stacks of cultivated terraces gave way to lush fields of grazing cows, a landscape more like home barring the 3 metre high clumps of bamboo that rustled in the breeze. We pushed on aiming to make the village of Santa for the night. Late afternoon we strode through villages where bars overflowed with locals catching up on the gossip after a day’s work, no such rest for us - the looming 8pm sundown kept us moving along roads and into the woods. They were eerie, it was dusk under the dense canopy of trees and the eucalyptus creaked in the wind whilst in the shelter beneath thousands of mosquitos buzzed resulting in a low humming sound that reminded us that this was no place to loiter.</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPkv0S1E-qyTTdEt7XfUOE3-zVLiSaetAK9tn1gRLcn4MB2Ob4QMXyqAHSBg_eSCdp46bwCKE8KEaQ3x651w17XHk5JXz2yc_lZu4_w2A2-NjeTpAlbn3-BDcyHj-JBVQQVYKxARbolmWQ7mk1YN_FtD-0J7YF2AQS2qpBokuFrY7PxLSD9uBGkTXQSg/s4032/IMG_6784.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPkv0S1E-qyTTdEt7XfUOE3-zVLiSaetAK9tn1gRLcn4MB2Ob4QMXyqAHSBg_eSCdp46bwCKE8KEaQ3x651w17XHk5JXz2yc_lZu4_w2A2-NjeTpAlbn3-BDcyHj-JBVQQVYKxARbolmWQ7mk1YN_FtD-0J7YF2AQS2qpBokuFrY7PxLSD9uBGkTXQSg/s320/IMG_6784.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyfdWR8BQnEwjbzbUTmHT5jWsJT_Q9sz1_37qYz26_XbUZ9YVyBuUBgF9-Xy5a0JCIkVOLd6cgXPyEvPW-ramLwDMpg6FcMZhf7CEh8GR0AmmL0pLLJ0Tn2vCpvbedL0H5ShpZGpERZQeFEA5A1qJrBVzSOxGj877SM_QfBsziTD2bOKRlFM8RCk_wg/s4032/IMG_6829.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyfdWR8BQnEwjbzbUTmHT5jWsJT_Q9sz1_37qYz26_XbUZ9YVyBuUBgF9-Xy5a0JCIkVOLd6cgXPyEvPW-ramLwDMpg6FcMZhf7CEh8GR0AmmL0pLLJ0Tn2vCpvbedL0H5ShpZGpERZQeFEA5A1qJrBVzSOxGj877SM_QfBsziTD2bOKRlFM8RCk_wg/s320/IMG_6829.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Dusk drew in and we chatted excitedly about the hotel we had booked for the night. The promise of a shower and a hot meal kept our march through the outskirts of Santa going. We finally spotted the lights of a bar. Walls panelled with faded wood veneer, flickering fluorescent light fittings and yellowing ceiling paint blunted our enthusiasm slightly but this was the only hotel in town . Two toothless old guys left as we entered, cigarettes hanging limp from their mouths and mahogany skin riven by wrinkles.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpnPPbShoii2gqYIB-0EwBtnhuD9i607cHd8y0dNfb-S1MekKlbEp9kjWwCeA4mAKp9B5_5y8yKa_oqZuZQGCNJtL72X9EkPnQYWd7bhsWkFJXcdKNayn9sP2DEejUHaKMC7MaNCGCXDwTyeS84FEBs_sABBVeU4LfK3i6xt7ZMNyyWP4R9b2zLWRSA/s4032/IMG_6833.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpnPPbShoii2gqYIB-0EwBtnhuD9i607cHd8y0dNfb-S1MekKlbEp9kjWwCeA4mAKp9B5_5y8yKa_oqZuZQGCNJtL72X9EkPnQYWd7bhsWkFJXcdKNayn9sP2DEejUHaKMC7MaNCGCXDwTyeS84FEBs_sABBVeU4LfK3i6xt7ZMNyyWP4R9b2zLWRSA/w178-h237/IMG_6833.JPG" width="178" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Y1pEStss01dEBprbY_bKEBMN2Z1TNmEcDVvx_F3EGhZ24AFZbc42maunzRa1xXUB5zQLAtfCpxuvKeQXTc2qRTs8ojs6qaNEgV_vLOIY_KFWBUJEvRbdcPPivY9niJsctbbTA2yP4UYPU6MQZG6UwtpNG1SscGN8AT0spKGPUwhJTvoZlLfnA9FcCQ/s4032/IMG_6838.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Y1pEStss01dEBprbY_bKEBMN2Z1TNmEcDVvx_F3EGhZ24AFZbc42maunzRa1xXUB5zQLAtfCpxuvKeQXTc2qRTs8ojs6qaNEgV_vLOIY_KFWBUJEvRbdcPPivY9niJsctbbTA2yP4UYPU6MQZG6UwtpNG1SscGN8AT0spKGPUwhJTvoZlLfnA9FcCQ/s320/IMG_6838.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We were ushered upstairs into a large dark room which was apparently ‘the restaurant’. An abandoned bar bisected the room, stacked with dusty bottles of Aperol and Cinzano, walls adorned with faded postcards, a pile of disused fish tanks completed the air of dispair. It seemed that several decades ago this might have been a hotel buzzing with life, but now in 2022 we were wondering if we had made a serious mistake booking a room here. A door slammed and a toothless old lady appeared from a dark corner wearing a nightie and slippers; “hot food?”. Err, 'si'. We were starving but the absence of menu seemed a little unconventional. Ten minutes later the propietor appeared from downstairs with two plates, each of which carried a bread roll stuffed with fried gristle. In an eerie act of unexpected choreography the old lady also appeared from the opposite side of the room carrying two bowls of, well, spaghetti soup. We were served with what was apparently a typical peasant’s meal from many decades ago and there was more than a whiff of Edward and Tubs from The League of Gentlemen about these two. We did our best with the food and left early the next morning declining the offer of breakfast.</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhzNC5MQuA_5A0w74nXWjJiex98YMgjUgpgsugatTbTATerOBRRrVjNWq4nATuIyiuc20lPOwTxjfTaqcttsXJBejx0jRxC-9dOhrjbjIte8CLiwgSUhkTAnnWAPMa5GRUPTz6SZtX6BzdEoV3xiBL-4Ok-VNbhIlVUNY8fMqvegICH6l93mxHWQBmg/s4032/IMG_6839.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhzNC5MQuA_5A0w74nXWjJiex98YMgjUgpgsugatTbTATerOBRRrVjNWq4nATuIyiuc20lPOwTxjfTaqcttsXJBejx0jRxC-9dOhrjbjIte8CLiwgSUhkTAnnWAPMa5GRUPTz6SZtX6BzdEoV3xiBL-4Ok-VNbhIlVUNY8fMqvegICH6l93mxHWQBmg/s320/IMG_6839.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">The pools of Porto Moniz were our next destination, we’d heard a lot about them but they turned out to be concrete enclosed rock pools. A little underwhelming, unlike the breakfast delicacy that we found in a nearby hotel. An omelette sandwich sounded like an unlikely culinary hit but was actually amazing! A thick, succulent spring onion and oregano filled omelette crammed into a ‘Bolo de Caco’, (traditional Madeiran Bread roll) washed down with freshly pressed orange juice and arse kicking black coffee.</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYd5Kq5pLN5-adm-rGG58IsB8izpYwWY5_LVcdFtT4LACLNS0eHruKi4975yGHXWZHLyhjAXP6ML1ji5aA9qUs-4ckTEYtUL-41gp3dMQ-t9_7VUkovHH6HUsXq5q4_4lSIgmV7WP-rjyj4IqfkqJ2jwXqbQVetUtAKZhLMrXHD3kOkceY-m6oYfnWkw/s4032/IMG_6853.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYd5Kq5pLN5-adm-rGG58IsB8izpYwWY5_LVcdFtT4LACLNS0eHruKi4975yGHXWZHLyhjAXP6ML1ji5aA9qUs-4ckTEYtUL-41gp3dMQ-t9_7VUkovHH6HUsXq5q4_4lSIgmV7WP-rjyj4IqfkqJ2jwXqbQVetUtAKZhLMrXHD3kOkceY-m6oYfnWkw/s320/IMG_6853.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWM65EArgtitT1n-uECjRAqV7EtPABjW9Tcgb4EKkPIAoAzVIZKK0aIEga5-SDCcB1LdeJ7prh132P4hsmEYpdr4jnhNK-UVe_DVn_sKXoRycXwJXLrNB0b1Wmr3xW1A1OMDzsXQ_2GTyQTeqrniZurS2WX7cBSD_pulPV_c_10gEaqm1qMhvrJQ90ig/s4032/IMG_6855.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWM65EArgtitT1n-uECjRAqV7EtPABjW9Tcgb4EKkPIAoAzVIZKK0aIEga5-SDCcB1LdeJ7prh132P4hsmEYpdr4jnhNK-UVe_DVn_sKXoRycXwJXLrNB0b1Wmr3xW1A1OMDzsXQ_2GTyQTeqrniZurS2WX7cBSD_pulPV_c_10gEaqm1qMhvrJQ90ig/s320/IMG_6855.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2qyfXb4EC3BZaqGtfCJin3l0AiR8vieYPZ351VyLiufxtBGDRCC5shZU0PVarEwbcIPoiFQ9qTZY9zTZRJHSDFVwVBpd9xuNxgLUxVw3XXwkvaSSom5POAeIUYbS2dDVDs40Pqx02PoLIiOoloXAMNCdQYzWT6z8yO7QXIiZlGgb5u7nk5FVR3nxYg/s4032/IMG_6862.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2746" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2qyfXb4EC3BZaqGtfCJin3l0AiR8vieYPZ351VyLiufxtBGDRCC5shZU0PVarEwbcIPoiFQ9qTZY9zTZRJHSDFVwVBpd9xuNxgLUxVw3XXwkvaSSom5POAeIUYbS2dDVDs40Pqx02PoLIiOoloXAMNCdQYzWT6z8yO7QXIiZlGgb5u7nk5FVR3nxYg/s320/IMG_6862.jpg" width="218" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipg3z4ZLgKKBsrt_bCh_omT8ToW3ORCCBrLkNJgFolWgr9QKRxgHemk8HPupYTjx02IKGFJzAXvw6xqOKcEyFHbzMrDzZ5C2A7Qsphi4Rm7eHcikRk0AIhMLZUBVLTm7e765GNg29g2Q9apI9sjYuZYYZqJXw09bxFWVdXQ78pRS9ZBRpgfOGtJiGwhA/s4032/IMG_6865.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipg3z4ZLgKKBsrt_bCh_omT8ToW3ORCCBrLkNJgFolWgr9QKRxgHemk8HPupYTjx02IKGFJzAXvw6xqOKcEyFHbzMrDzZ5C2A7Qsphi4Rm7eHcikRk0AIhMLZUBVLTm7e765GNg29g2Q9apI9sjYuZYYZqJXw09bxFWVdXQ78pRS9ZBRpgfOGtJiGwhA/s320/IMG_6865.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div>The northern coast was dramatic, shards of rock leapt skyward from the foaming Atlantic breakers while at the back of the steep shingle beaches lush forests ascended to the clouds. Returning from the clouds were wide rocky water shoots which would have been tempting as waterslides were it not for their near vertical inclination and abrupt rocky landing just above sea level. We were lucky enough to walk through a stretch of this forest high above the coast. Our ancient cobbled Royal path twisted and turned weaving a tortuous path though centuries old forest. Creepers and brambles hung from gnarly cedar and laurel frequently grabbing our hats as we ducked and dived underneath. Despite being hundreds of metres up and seemingly deep in the forest the sound of a crashing Atlantic swell far below was a constant reminder of how close we were to the water.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOO0O6glsBAjCSz59sYLsO2WVxQiz-YG5-WmbgupqMseEqWh4q0dPoIT97xxFrdumxPHeMeoXZ1KXw10Ie4AMDILmruJbGR4G707LP2I_X8CzNeU_oDVDwlGDOqS0qkOYf3f1SRZmX3zCOZJEnK43dKszyGmST38g_NLe-fI3sKW2l64r1jV7vc6IVzQ/s4032/IMG_6866.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOO0O6glsBAjCSz59sYLsO2WVxQiz-YG5-WmbgupqMseEqWh4q0dPoIT97xxFrdumxPHeMeoXZ1KXw10Ie4AMDILmruJbGR4G707LP2I_X8CzNeU_oDVDwlGDOqS0qkOYf3f1SRZmX3zCOZJEnK43dKszyGmST38g_NLe-fI3sKW2l64r1jV7vc6IVzQ/s320/IMG_6866.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQyw3pxDQHv0WDts69Rp7p_hlO6zIwzoyuT_iHaeoK8OOOe4o6FDEQxjQVZ0OB5-MUBsk85J7F00fqGD8CL9SNm9Kp7K6YkkyaE6_9HRwhdPdJ6UPgWVupTcgSpR3AnG_Q9YgHKCrsGEIB1bYZ-dUfXYd46UjUIqzOAtCFWIe_0PHS_N22KL74FRiDg/s4032/IMG_6872.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIj8qZzDPz9QTatdpSsgGkizf_Ccl5iRmNvLa1Melihtes_vnpXrVXIOHOfUr8iAEkzu2xz4F09gmqCVAo1RL57TTH4Vk4hUNV97qEnuQopOz72WR3ur2fvPGFJE4rl8TRFr3qBVkXHv3XPU810wt1QD6UPAy1aL1eeqBF0euQAqMSon0VgI3dvyvdlA/s320/IMG_6939.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhoTlc6EgQdzt6IrQI7ruoYUtgfTrOLDVd-D6hy-oV7p1FH7ITy5mffBr4qrL1MYPcBQirL-8sqo4tNTplCb_oAMQG9P44WBPyxz1RROym8wqL2G8OMApaVTermX2oCmhCMnaEWolKA_W4xLfyVUXRlDgpR8P05JuEoDgkgI51LwkkikkH40v8wvXqA/s4032/IMG_6898.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhoTlc6EgQdzt6IrQI7ruoYUtgfTrOLDVd-D6hy-oV7p1FH7ITy5mffBr4qrL1MYPcBQirL-8sqo4tNTplCb_oAMQG9P44WBPyxz1RROym8wqL2G8OMApaVTermX2oCmhCMnaEWolKA_W4xLfyVUXRlDgpR8P05JuEoDgkgI51LwkkikkH40v8wvXqA/s320/IMG_6898.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlyhZsRZ4JNBNJfOZJ3W1Q3a7StaN-f8R3bCNvDgW9fr5rthsKrZQcqhjKP0LjC1yJ-VafrnWomBpOYE8uR7J5k5FHoWBUAj08eKh-ixOzk3pe_p-MJJECWUGeejPunGLJLxMM9tiklTfdBZ5OS9NEzNzPtz7cehRpocivld9Viw63fhhlCndB2Z2Ug/s4032/IMG_6895.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlyhZsRZ4JNBNJfOZJ3W1Q3a7StaN-f8R3bCNvDgW9fr5rthsKrZQcqhjKP0LjC1yJ-VafrnWomBpOYE8uR7J5k5FHoWBUAj08eKh-ixOzk3pe_p-MJJECWUGeejPunGLJLxMM9tiklTfdBZ5OS9NEzNzPtz7cehRpocivld9Viw63fhhlCndB2Z2Ug/s320/IMG_6895.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmAGTOzt83i3WQsWc0YpJ0u4S-8_D-ycWaGAQKdUjx--7dN0b7lImmP5Gb2_ZNYVm_nx43HszgZJKAoh05jS-N3umyi3XHFlsnPJzTs9pnNEnehKA9E7jIB5Gv85gQdzMS7p8MmVZUEmeVt_u_1eOTGR8ZkPghHS4-R0DZy4nxd9-cPFBjvgJzI4lhmg/s4032/IMG_6893.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmAGTOzt83i3WQsWc0YpJ0u4S-8_D-ycWaGAQKdUjx--7dN0b7lImmP5Gb2_ZNYVm_nx43HszgZJKAoh05jS-N3umyi3XHFlsnPJzTs9pnNEnehKA9E7jIB5Gv85gQdzMS7p8MmVZUEmeVt_u_1eOTGR8ZkPghHS4-R0DZy4nxd9-cPFBjvgJzI4lhmg/s320/IMG_6893.JPG" width="240" /></a></div></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Following lunchtime glasses of poncha at a surf bar we were forced into road tunnels for a few km, the original cliff pathways had long since been swallowed by the sea and it was in these long tunnels that we experienced the only moments of monotony on the entire trip. Out in the daylight again the views remained spectacular, black sandy beaches taking the place of the shingle from earlier in the day. We found ourselves a level pitch by the sea for our tent and watched the sun set over a group of surfers searching their next break whilst we drank bottles of Coral beer. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6MKI_ngvCuF7oGc_agi3vHTtNHZOHSy6a7Lvdl84WpxQ70OAnnYRatsCovd7FsmXiH1N7KYoWXsNQakrOVcqlex2UqnkGYwgBZGP6xrS5OdfdRfbcsKxnvrfeFk8IZ2-g0ejcUo7CFzyP-B0Qsz7delIsj692hVHqoyv2_X4TyIsu2pBjObbFtHjLCQ/s3279/IMG_6952.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3279" data-original-width="2459" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6MKI_ngvCuF7oGc_agi3vHTtNHZOHSy6a7Lvdl84WpxQ70OAnnYRatsCovd7FsmXiH1N7KYoWXsNQakrOVcqlex2UqnkGYwgBZGP6xrS5OdfdRfbcsKxnvrfeFk8IZ2-g0ejcUo7CFzyP-B0Qsz7delIsj692hVHqoyv2_X4TyIsu2pBjObbFtHjLCQ/w180-h240/IMG_6952.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Ytw-NJsmcLLWoEu7sPq4P8-HqZobOASQS1tNBSDvlmL_lkQcj3rG9qEtgH28mWc5AAUE2QV4ZYn_gnfs0lrHijSHm-2M8N5bYL1SuNT_w_76rbR5HLuaevSTzEUtadnGcZ7fHai3tqT9-yzsquPZ72xeK62oCOzKns9w_0HnctOI36-8LQloUiyeyQ/s4032/IMG_6954.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Ytw-NJsmcLLWoEu7sPq4P8-HqZobOASQS1tNBSDvlmL_lkQcj3rG9qEtgH28mWc5AAUE2QV4ZYn_gnfs0lrHijSHm-2M8N5bYL1SuNT_w_76rbR5HLuaevSTzEUtadnGcZ7fHai3tqT9-yzsquPZ72xeK62oCOzKns9w_0HnctOI36-8LQloUiyeyQ/s320/IMG_6954.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">We were packed and away for dawn, enjoying the low light and savouring the promise of breakfast in the next town. It was never difficult to find a morning Espresso and ours propelled us forward on one of the most scenic stretches of the path. Steep cobbled hairpins clung to the cliffs as above Paul do Mar and every time we climbed high above the ocean another set of hairpins would come into view. We marched on through the morning making it to the ancient ‘Laurisilva’ near Santana. These protected forests are thought to the the last examples of a sub-tropical habitat that covered much of southern Europe centuries ago. Containing more than 20 different tree types the most abundant is the bay laurel which has grown here for 1.8 million years. </span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQCk2Q6_Nn1f4wH4LkwtlI6kaFQnMEqTySqy1KeF3hntJrUj8BsmfLvXfYX737WFs7EzYPMMFSlUZmjX7MsDvzrcKJaibtIfVGKWqvfAoFpcmwAjeJxZz0Fy9yn9olQMzTs8oYnlWxiLpIsbUuaAx7im1e5yHwh4zgiLYjhDUruE5rbGlYSy45fu9lQ/s4032/IMG_6963.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQCk2Q6_Nn1f4wH4LkwtlI6kaFQnMEqTySqy1KeF3hntJrUj8BsmfLvXfYX737WFs7EzYPMMFSlUZmjX7MsDvzrcKJaibtIfVGKWqvfAoFpcmwAjeJxZz0Fy9yn9olQMzTs8oYnlWxiLpIsbUuaAx7im1e5yHwh4zgiLYjhDUruE5rbGlYSy45fu9lQ/s320/IMG_6963.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Ayu9ujSWRySRK972JuvBDjcikHuHQ8VB8v8ePmsUVNVySDgaajZKPWkqqhdkxARQKGq-J1y24uzhXt9yS_YpNVOPNgBE7f8O1dhp9Sr-YyE9hqDb-YPwKP48Es_YVn1e_zGbiuLKwe4OIWEuZ0mNac7NXUIwBRTgahZwM0Ue6YAlV5YeFIeojecw7g/s4032/IMG_6964.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOK1EaSVOJCPz1OsJcGyArL1di2Oc3kiU72lpGvfgifbuBkXWHwTcCShlji61CYAnlqGN2oiUo4N-5hjGDt9h7m6_f-84oesmVOG3Yhcy_yecQ4f5vP9oMhZNf4mDbmgAZF8ManGJZIDD3TzRqoApiffN-TbgXvLPvnKKRB2Yw2Rf_KrvN0vNoyUcAGg/w200-h150/IMG_7060.JPG" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUf_Dw0Vr3GllqD9Ao6nmfGXMW1HOO4y4eHzKie3XCPmPpYJiX03BA9jcHOxHCa7j757I3wwd6mdwedXtKuRYWh5iZsY_-q900-kCUkmEA82bkT7m8rby0A_PbIoaw77AFa6qZ8DRFB3ETqxf5yzNoPKevSo7lxVTu0EuDUFbg90SvViCxuFMIyZYIig/s4032/IMG_7063.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUf_Dw0Vr3GllqD9Ao6nmfGXMW1HOO4y4eHzKie3XCPmPpYJiX03BA9jcHOxHCa7j757I3wwd6mdwedXtKuRYWh5iZsY_-q900-kCUkmEA82bkT7m8rby0A_PbIoaw77AFa6qZ8DRFB3ETqxf5yzNoPKevSo7lxVTu0EuDUFbg90SvViCxuFMIyZYIig/w150-h200/IMG_7063.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We pressed on through the tourists of Santana, keen to reach the last major climb of the route before the day was out. We lost the light at Porta da Cruz and started looking for a suitable camp site, unfortunately we were back in the land of steep terraced hills and choice was limited. It started to rain and to cap it all the trail fell into a river, remains of a bridge scattered in the riverbed. We were forced to pick a spot for the tent soon after our enthusiasm for the day had waned. We rushed throwing the tent up by torchlight, eager to escape the heavy drizzle that was quickly soaking our belongings and keen for sleep after another long day of walking. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzVdvteP6BzC0Lv6OabASwf5cqDVa_fCcke8TDX4IVTzEkZRCYhLO_dAoIwvVRgDtCaeG-LFY2KIqilrUK5NC4tQS7gOI7JqjhFUmkxIvAgpnOKAw38YNmGdcu0y9r88PA5rp5OQtRXbG9VzjEtil0pWoLzBnEQV4Q_vYvC6oCoG0rGTZgULFrI4RbPA/s4032/IMG_7076.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzVdvteP6BzC0Lv6OabASwf5cqDVa_fCcke8TDX4IVTzEkZRCYhLO_dAoIwvVRgDtCaeG-LFY2KIqilrUK5NC4tQS7gOI7JqjhFUmkxIvAgpnOKAw38YNmGdcu0y9r88PA5rp5OQtRXbG9VzjEtil0pWoLzBnEQV4Q_vYvC6oCoG0rGTZgULFrI4RbPA/w181-h241/IMG_7076.JPG" width="181" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDuS_R1p3FIU7owf41lX3Fv894FJhQPv35cPv0PxCl2sa-iuTOlewZoX3w6M32XsBrgYLRFbJOj-SCOeu5MfeJTeE7t5O63kqDd0ttQUiKzrJXa3dRcd8114D3n3Zv9WdUF3KczHCVeU4lQUjIFX95MSuU3G4owh5e4E9l3yDsYoeYQGkyAxHwJSBx1Q/s4032/IMG_7089.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDuS_R1p3FIU7owf41lX3Fv894FJhQPv35cPv0PxCl2sa-iuTOlewZoX3w6M32XsBrgYLRFbJOj-SCOeu5MfeJTeE7t5O63kqDd0ttQUiKzrJXa3dRcd8114D3n3Zv9WdUF3KczHCVeU4lQUjIFX95MSuU3G4owh5e4E9l3yDsYoeYQGkyAxHwJSBx1Q/s320/IMG_7089.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MBIO77XCmafisssmFxjznNlbLob0EVGAjdsPUHzoOaGHJcvZHx1YJGokQRt6xaBGo1Aq2KJkvN0EUGzOb9-3GsBy-rTX-H1kqwdRttLDgj79N1r6akAr50Qcz3whEXDPATqZs9XmI8LHGQ0MY3UT8vx9V8qtl3WA6HsKdsrp1YpQFNFnic4clnX9fA/s4032/IMG_7098.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MBIO77XCmafisssmFxjznNlbLob0EVGAjdsPUHzoOaGHJcvZHx1YJGokQRt6xaBGo1Aq2KJkvN0EUGzOb9-3GsBy-rTX-H1kqwdRttLDgj79N1r6akAr50Qcz3whEXDPATqZs9XmI8LHGQ0MY3UT8vx9V8qtl3WA6HsKdsrp1YpQFNFnic4clnX9fA/s320/IMG_7098.JPG" width="240" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8W2li6r7DPDCQ8RJqUX4RBS8xoTBamE3NvWeIrG9AlWwg3MH951Hpm3n7IDLL2xh0EI_8OrXNqa9l-7DtTYZoUKhfXLCpvw8WC1fZ1kY7Sjmz8X5OaVGG0Pm4dicEcE6ZCffoi78A6RaHwGJPFwXU5z8ITI8AYl42k4S734Xh0ww9qQFQf6an94gUw/s4032/IMG_7113.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8W2li6r7DPDCQ8RJqUX4RBS8xoTBamE3NvWeIrG9AlWwg3MH951Hpm3n7IDLL2xh0EI_8OrXNqa9l-7DtTYZoUKhfXLCpvw8WC1fZ1kY7Sjmz8X5OaVGG0Pm4dicEcE6ZCffoi78A6RaHwGJPFwXU5z8ITI8AYl42k4S734Xh0ww9qQFQf6an94gUw/s320/IMG_7113.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Dawn broke and we hoped that this would be our final day, not because we weren’t enjoying the walk - nothing could be further from the truth, but the idea of completing the caminho in 5 days had grown through the week from possibility to necessity. The last big climb took us from narrow bamboo lined roads at sea level to steep cobbled switchbacks at 700m. We climbed out over the watershed and descended towards the blue skies and sea several miles to the south of us. Low leaden skies dissolved leaving an oasis of blue overhead, outer layers were removed as the morning sun hit us on our march to Machico. We found breakfast in Machico after several hours of trekking on empty stomachs. Machico was the other golden beach on Madeira. It was fake of course, thousands of tonnes of sand imported from Morocco to complete the beach cliche that northern European holiday makers sought. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhEIYsVlN6fMVuFwUqnHUamByvOBTqAPxLXIzNYRp7_uyH0vmpE0oCXV3_nphR48wReI_JMMRs6WUbVnvog1UQHQLTzC2rHTKaaopupibvjF0A3_IYb_vW2wXG2hTIyfK6LjRzyqXQIywksmngIwqihLUTXOvHxa61-hbbgamaUtlNyMjzj3NXLNv9A/s4032/IMG_7124.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhEIYsVlN6fMVuFwUqnHUamByvOBTqAPxLXIzNYRp7_uyH0vmpE0oCXV3_nphR48wReI_JMMRs6WUbVnvog1UQHQLTzC2rHTKaaopupibvjF0A3_IYb_vW2wXG2hTIyfK6LjRzyqXQIywksmngIwqihLUTXOvHxa61-hbbgamaUtlNyMjzj3NXLNv9A/w400-h300/IMG_7124.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRE0s4e6T9R-oMZfkiErHPwOFZcSZRufmtgXw4xlBryrxoQ72L9BsvASlEhJxuFlPOpq643yHniZrtPick824p5trFslDpy4tf4qWz_J5UZdY9rlxi9-YuppLybfrqrC2wKi9ZQ2iIr6Qfh5lGlwskzsPHzDuyysQzkVa7FLVYDH-zrGC7aiHqlVzr-A/s3767/IMG_7145.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2825" data-original-width="3767" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRE0s4e6T9R-oMZfkiErHPwOFZcSZRufmtgXw4xlBryrxoQ72L9BsvASlEhJxuFlPOpq643yHniZrtPick824p5trFslDpy4tf4qWz_J5UZdY9rlxi9-YuppLybfrqrC2wKi9ZQ2iIr6Qfh5lGlwskzsPHzDuyysQzkVa7FLVYDH-zrGC7aiHqlVzr-A/w400-h300/IMG_7145.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Only sixteen miles now stood between us and a celebratory beer in Funchal so following a quick omelette sandwich we wasted no time making our way past the airport and along the pebbled beach at Santa Cruz.</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHEZI-W2DR4j07wENr43cfvajTG_DnHRG4IwqSh0w6FPnxKjm2nTG7ITCygP3uY_L8zCrGa3K1WcMgMMVffkyCDGcT2SzPEJubrCEAmrmi_MgEN-ZSucDzMDr9nLselIInQmtH-tDj--Gw3GgIgNn9Xa5x094exfGcsHcnjAsM7SgIJzkzYtWr-hmx4Q/s4032/IMG_7151.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHEZI-W2DR4j07wENr43cfvajTG_DnHRG4IwqSh0w6FPnxKjm2nTG7ITCygP3uY_L8zCrGa3K1WcMgMMVffkyCDGcT2SzPEJubrCEAmrmi_MgEN-ZSucDzMDr9nLselIInQmtH-tDj--Gw3GgIgNn9Xa5x094exfGcsHcnjAsM7SgIJzkzYtWr-hmx4Q/s320/IMG_7151.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrGhPXASw8wWQqr2jnxbl1x7LGYhToJWG3YT2dpH9q6s2iHi2s2aR1mQLLmp2bl6jXNpBxy2cFUbY8p6xVEW9U3knqH9VP6AAebsgHTfnsc8TPGwTwiZA8p40HTzXAu_hYbKXrIThie1niWwFz4cJE2_J2JPMwxhj6PeGewGn680kHndI7KyV5Ff_-w/s4032/IMG_7157.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrGhPXASw8wWQqr2jnxbl1x7LGYhToJWG3YT2dpH9q6s2iHi2s2aR1mQLLmp2bl6jXNpBxy2cFUbY8p6xVEW9U3knqH9VP6AAebsgHTfnsc8TPGwTwiZA8p40HTzXAu_hYbKXrIThie1niWwFz4cJE2_J2JPMwxhj6PeGewGn680kHndI7KyV5Ff_-w/w368-h276/IMG_7157.jpg" width="368" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Villages and towns merged together along the coast to Funchal, clinging to steep hills which stretched up to the clouds. It was Saturday and roads were busy with locals going about their weekend, we passed bars buzzing with football crowds and roadside stalls selling fresh fruit. After several hours Funchal was in sight, 300m below we spied a cruise liner in the harbour. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1297zC1JRna3qd4wDYLzGZ0VOopJh6GtnGAASVWBMyaMi8a8m3OCujmI35ETmzsGkhDrjU50s319VnjPEecLd_v6zQJOCpQam9bDAamb8qPV2Ul0Qq0Rb_YFKNrmHzpvX1xsoILCVl0wOvpHTcGFybXY79O4TxnlQGw0EUx1GvsLwhOIg2yDVjKFPg/s4032/IMG_7196.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1297zC1JRna3qd4wDYLzGZ0VOopJh6GtnGAASVWBMyaMi8a8m3OCujmI35ETmzsGkhDrjU50s319VnjPEecLd_v6zQJOCpQam9bDAamb8qPV2Ul0Qq0Rb_YFKNrmHzpvX1xsoILCVl0wOvpHTcGFybXY79O4TxnlQGw0EUx1GvsLwhOIg2yDVjKFPg/w400-h300/IMG_7196.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>The steep descent into Funchal tested our weary legs and feet but with the end in sight nothing could stop us now. Within thirty minutes we were toasting the finish. Chips, beer and a hotel for the night were the perfect reward for 110 miles with 26000 feet of ascent in 5 days. Jen reckoned it was harder than an Ironman, it was certainly more fun. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQjkhcaTZOJ2bQqwuR-BWOnhBNNMPjjWU6ejW7C2sQxHxvh1pScL9hf8C0QPyH54k7OfBiWB2iFdZiKRttrqios_3Qv69p9PCk97Fv8TlUOP2ZG-mRIzgcRrPWPuVVelCL1q8oGMfAZhIme9xvOm8ZIQ-tv1gGPG_cyj_ObiO-YR0G694fy1palVBIw/s4032/IMG_7206.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQjkhcaTZOJ2bQqwuR-BWOnhBNNMPjjWU6ejW7C2sQxHxvh1pScL9hf8C0QPyH54k7OfBiWB2iFdZiKRttrqios_3Qv69p9PCk97Fv8TlUOP2ZG-mRIzgcRrPWPuVVelCL1q8oGMfAZhIme9xvOm8ZIQ-tv1gGPG_cyj_ObiO-YR0G694fy1palVBIw/w400-h300/IMG_7206.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> </div></div>Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0Funchal, Portugal32.6506129 -16.90823574.3403790638211532 -52.0644857 60.960846736178844 18.2480143tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-44473551056078907222021-11-25T09:22:00.003-08:002021-11-25T09:25:56.228-08:00Glasgow Calling: The Route to Net Zero<p> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Climbing towards the M62 I ventured out on the long road to COP26. 200 miles to my northwest thousands of activists, negotiators and concerned citizens were already pushing for the changes that would fingers crossed, reduce global average temperature during our lifetime. Failure would amount to a tacit suicide pact for humanity, the ultimate selfish act.</span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> My immediate concern however was the next 30 Pennine miles; brutally hilly, and packed with 25% climbs and steep descents to test my individual resolve to this cause. Mile by twisted mile though the ferocity of the lanes abated, and the valleys opened out as the weather closed in.</span></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOhHXF25gsaAb6y6qE-kVRsk6uxQMkkNvM1tV4j-SRy7kyyh9vlqtfOqFSAjIFAREkpJvpbKEkGB_cPd37T7_tFxtm94JcoJwh_lvg4sU-iyLeBNLR_wNGe5FKCwOHgAEQZVOHmy5iFT-/s4032/94CCF83C-9530-4EC9-A320-4157AA9EC65F.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNdFpZiRDuEE0CHQo1_o_rbOUTh7SwLvFBe9M4SMYst24npbneusQFWxQHkYAlzt3V5vA60_VqKLQ4oT_H4oOrsZZWWkGUR2e70A3v51z5nnfmWu-c6K2Q2cm-55C4MTYHGOp7zZAkDE2/s4032/2ED6B017-35F6-4B64-9433-26B22A75AFE9.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNdFpZiRDuEE0CHQo1_o_rbOUTh7SwLvFBe9M4SMYst24npbneusQFWxQHkYAlzt3V5vA60_VqKLQ4oT_H4oOrsZZWWkGUR2e70A3v51z5nnfmWu-c6K2Q2cm-55C4MTYHGOp7zZAkDE2/s320/2ED6B017-35F6-4B64-9433-26B22A75AFE9.jpeg" width="320" /></a><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOhHXF25gsaAb6y6qE-kVRsk6uxQMkkNvM1tV4j-SRy7kyyh9vlqtfOqFSAjIFAREkpJvpbKEkGB_cPd37T7_tFxtm94JcoJwh_lvg4sU-iyLeBNLR_wNGe5FKCwOHgAEQZVOHmy5iFT-/s320/94CCF83C-9530-4EC9-A320-4157AA9EC65F.jpeg" width="320" /> </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8T-r8-CnfaJRH2M0lmON0cneMy9goWMQTcQnthiz7NlIcLSQ0KWM7fu6dFjRfzCxRq67SkWfoJ_10Mgoj_RX4151q7xjsi3LWhcrxpBKunMRmNUfR-4NxcO8rdiczytg8p2-hpri5LDBQ/s4032/36C2D3CB-91E2-4279-B32F-4022D38A9890.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8T-r8-CnfaJRH2M0lmON0cneMy9goWMQTcQnthiz7NlIcLSQ0KWM7fu6dFjRfzCxRq67SkWfoJ_10Mgoj_RX4151q7xjsi3LWhcrxpBKunMRmNUfR-4NxcO8rdiczytg8p2-hpri5LDBQ/s320/36C2D3CB-91E2-4279-B32F-4022D38A9890.jpeg" width="240" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWuDJZFgAkKd-7kEJuODgCjxFNpK_n44maymAw-mzqb82pACHtLSWWeEpgZMJeKlKrKFPBltTO-0GNp15KMInjdUGV31ETmLWwJAvo-cM5KvNQ0mEuGiq95V8n6AjyWSR9jXk_NQW_r7Ug/s4032/FB798DCB-04D1-4EF6-AF8D-F681665571E7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWuDJZFgAkKd-7kEJuODgCjxFNpK_n44maymAw-mzqb82pACHtLSWWeEpgZMJeKlKrKFPBltTO-0GNp15KMInjdUGV31ETmLWwJAvo-cM5KvNQ0mEuGiq95V8n6AjyWSR9jXk_NQW_r7Ug/s320/FB798DCB-04D1-4EF6-AF8D-F681665571E7.jpeg" width="320" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ5e0t3uxROT_ZMbvHQktEMD1UecQis1MPPObZAf4Vs1Q-FnQnXrDbq2jYjBSgkTfGX9nJ-H0J-nmnKXzjSd7no-Yhi_xTzEvMKDSP7PPQ14Q_xmcbEzQx8Q87jSzC6VJBDJZ7N7lp5TJt/s2048/ADF5AB7B-4E73-4AE2-80B3-DE4E9953862A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ5e0t3uxROT_ZMbvHQktEMD1UecQis1MPPObZAf4Vs1Q-FnQnXrDbq2jYjBSgkTfGX9nJ-H0J-nmnKXzjSd7no-Yhi_xTzEvMKDSP7PPQ14Q_xmcbEzQx8Q87jSzC6VJBDJZ7N7lp5TJt/s320/ADF5AB7B-4E73-4AE2-80B3-DE4E9953862A.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I met Pete (@adventurepedlars) riding a £30 mountain bike that he would donate once he reached Glasgow. We talked for miles before I left him to his own thoughts near Leyburn. Only a careless crash resulting in a broken finger and bruised ego could mar the day. Darkness fell over Teesdale as I crept up the long climb to the watershed. I had the misty moors to myself as the road tipped downhill towards Alston, only the occasional pickup truck, sheep and owl to interrupt the rhythmic whirring of cranks . </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5auc2EK8JaileO9khcYHhUMXDqm7LWEiY4nV2xu1xNiF94qComVzmoh-4__tldwoEZfBWRsqF-LO1tXlC_7jGwpgPjKu2OfJBHJKoME_j0h1fyf1oN7nbW-NLWdzyVm0EamDMSuy6pBF0/s4032/1CE11B2A-B521-4776-99CF-5A8DD86DC661.jpeg" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5auc2EK8JaileO9khcYHhUMXDqm7LWEiY4nV2xu1xNiF94qComVzmoh-4__tldwoEZfBWRsqF-LO1tXlC_7jGwpgPjKu2OfJBHJKoME_j0h1fyf1oN7nbW-NLWdzyVm0EamDMSuy6pBF0/s320/1CE11B2A-B521-4776-99CF-5A8DD86DC661.jpeg" width="240" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpOeTTSDwtWVIKcmWp6oHIn3Sbcmwsxpikgk9sNpayoMKpI8EtkJ6bpA4VNeD8aqbJPrN6AKdFJEr_58VqptJpOsXFKFIfn5rHBSSuJ5cEgNRRO807qYl2Z5_F93lILbJNSDKBG7XFp3A/s4032/FDB7D255-A32D-4904-AFAB-D0E4EFBA5224.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpOeTTSDwtWVIKcmWp6oHIn3Sbcmwsxpikgk9sNpayoMKpI8EtkJ6bpA4VNeD8aqbJPrN6AKdFJEr_58VqptJpOsXFKFIfn5rHBSSuJ5cEgNRRO807qYl2Z5_F93lILbJNSDKBG7XFp3A/s320/FDB7D255-A32D-4904-AFAB-D0E4EFBA5224.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Leaving Alston YHA the next morning the lanes alongside the South Tyne were lit up by a riot of autumnal hues; sycamore, maple, hawthorn and beech ablaze before their winter hibernation. West of Haltwhistle it was difficult not to be be impressed by the Roman legacy of Hadrians Wall. Yes, 2000 years is however less than a second on the geological clock and we would do well to remember all the civilisations and species that have come and gone in the last 100,000 years when basking in the light of our own achievement. Civilisations come and go through folly or circumstance, species become extinct (or in the case of Homo Sapiens extinquish themselves), yet we continue to ignore the lessons of history and science in the pursuit of blinkered self interest and mutual hubris. The quiet moorland roads of the Borders were the perfect backdrop for reflection, none of the riders dispersed along our route knew what COP26 would bring but we were united in the hope that positive change would result.</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBbn9clpOYuwE7HP1VK7O9gmCZuiiMiaYn9jEPb_vCR5WQJFs7-u8sKRi-w2uUJetdUDijFjlGOAN-IyLd3zBHaeCLO50sO0IxPIc0NWt5K1DNACBIsOxgttHtEtuG-C2t_dn-lvnVcEj/s4032/649CE37E-C019-4D96-BA73-02CF36CB34DE.jpeg" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBbn9clpOYuwE7HP1VK7O9gmCZuiiMiaYn9jEPb_vCR5WQJFs7-u8sKRi-w2uUJetdUDijFjlGOAN-IyLd3zBHaeCLO50sO0IxPIc0NWt5K1DNACBIsOxgttHtEtuG-C2t_dn-lvnVcEj/s320/649CE37E-C019-4D96-BA73-02CF36CB34DE.jpeg" width="240" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSVdqYpqfJudEYLbnUgXfaB-vN-9I91wFwpXguEa7sgZIyi6BF1Im67_Kj1h2gJ2z8kaXUspK7tI5YOjNyjg5XcigNRJpnUdVkuBT2Sp2TaCMkB0LIY7SWe6JqMkPrlvloMdRq_4M09eV/s2048/DFE19CE6-F67F-4FE0-B46E-0AF71CB75133.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSVdqYpqfJudEYLbnUgXfaB-vN-9I91wFwpXguEa7sgZIyi6BF1Im67_Kj1h2gJ2z8kaXUspK7tI5YOjNyjg5XcigNRJpnUdVkuBT2Sp2TaCMkB0LIY7SWe6JqMkPrlvloMdRq_4M09eV/s320/DFE19CE6-F67F-4FE0-B46E-0AF71CB75133.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">A crisp and bright Thursday morning dawned in Moffat, clear blue skies to accompany our small group into Glasgow. The day was filled with stories and ideas for the future. The group contained Miles and Christian who rode a borrowed bike with flat pedals, he seemed to enjoy leaving everyone behind on the climbs despite the obvious handicap of his equipment. We even recce’d a new trail through the Clyde windfarm which dropped us onto route 74 south of Abington. By mid afternoon we were rolling into Glasgow Green to be greeted by the rickshaw riders on London Road, we had arrived!</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47D1nWc_dvMIP32Cgmhzi6dKbF2vhH3kGNxsoCjWzjvdMMe4chbxb1ycleoNiqxFjwgHAguc645h9WToASD84xR5ydmiPnzeHIHuGkX1uyrPXMVQUAN8TqY3Lwn3R-xO3R9Eu-2jPHwY1/s4032/981ED58E-A572-46BB-B077-2785A56AB260.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47D1nWc_dvMIP32Cgmhzi6dKbF2vhH3kGNxsoCjWzjvdMMe4chbxb1ycleoNiqxFjwgHAguc645h9WToASD84xR5ydmiPnzeHIHuGkX1uyrPXMVQUAN8TqY3Lwn3R-xO3R9Eu-2jPHwY1/s320/981ED58E-A572-46BB-B077-2785A56AB260.jpeg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpEC6Z9L7KGEQsrLIWCgXWEl6HxWMDpxRwGa5pzaNv_d3WbMdXJ3cheQumVCLWpwdHjLFLpKJ91psbUYacypeCY6fguuEmWwqkJ7MFk__BuGt50Sz881eUqeOrrxWmNQA2pzWzFavldw2/s4032/D7E3CF42-07AC-45A5-9788-48ABDCF61466.jpeg" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpEC6Z9L7KGEQsrLIWCgXWEl6HxWMDpxRwGa5pzaNv_d3WbMdXJ3cheQumVCLWpwdHjLFLpKJ91psbUYacypeCY6fguuEmWwqkJ7MFk__BuGt50Sz881eUqeOrrxWmNQA2pzWzFavldw2/s320/D7E3CF42-07AC-45A5-9788-48ABDCF61466.jpeg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpEC6Z9L7KGEQsrLIWCgXWEl6HxWMDpxRwGa5pzaNv_d3WbMdXJ3cheQumVCLWpwdHjLFLpKJ91psbUYacypeCY6fguuEmWwqkJ7MFk__BuGt50Sz881eUqeOrrxWmNQA2pzWzFavldw2/s4032/D7E3CF42-07AC-45A5-9788-48ABDCF61466.jpeg" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoecZOSVEv39qs4uPZUj-hAds98d8TqOnt6Vs2Lu2Hg35zrk8Ybw0gbmhgB1_ezJM98y-IA5UYUVBDian98-00uZaTVR-6LPrIkuTdvby0wxso2vjMdWM_BW0Kzx4AGZ1lAOokSU12i4Cl/s4032/05400682-4654-4F81-A911-DD4AE114ABEB.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoecZOSVEv39qs4uPZUj-hAds98d8TqOnt6Vs2Lu2Hg35zrk8Ybw0gbmhgB1_ezJM98y-IA5UYUVBDian98-00uZaTVR-6LPrIkuTdvby0wxso2vjMdWM_BW0Kzx4AGZ1lAOokSU12i4Cl/s320/05400682-4654-4F81-A911-DD4AE114ABEB.jpeg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpEC6Z9L7KGEQsrLIWCgXWEl6HxWMDpxRwGa5pzaNv_d3WbMdXJ3cheQumVCLWpwdHjLFLpKJ91psbUYacypeCY6fguuEmWwqkJ7MFk__BuGt50Sz881eUqeOrrxWmNQA2pzWzFavldw2/s4032/D7E3CF42-07AC-45A5-9788-48ABDCF61466.jpeg" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Later that evening riders descended on the Drygate Brewery tap to compare route notes and swap tales of the road, hopes for the COP were discussed, we were hopeful. We’d climbed the hills and put in the miles, over to the negotiators to do their bit.</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Well they didn’t/couldn’t/wouldn’t.</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">We completed our challenge but behind the barricades and security cordons our leaders did not complete theirs. The can was kicked down the road, the 25% climb ignored in favour of the easy gradient.</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">What next?</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">It’s over to us. We’re not impotent. We have the luxury of living in a western democracy and flawed as it may be it’s a lot less flawed than the systems under which many of the planet’s citizens are subjugated. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Write to your MP. Write again. And again. Look at your pension and any other investments you might be lucky enough to have and take back your money from companies that do not reflect your values. Move it to companies that do. Look at everything you buy, do you need it? Is your money going to good people who respect you and our planet? If not, look elesewhere for the things that perpetuate and punctuate your brief stay on earth. In the western world this is where your power resides. Bit by bit the corporates are realising that we want change and there is no stronger message that withdrawing your dollar. In time the multi-nationals will be forced to lead the goverments on this. After all, when companies like Shell have an output equal to a european country your money may have more impact than your vote. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHk4vnIIuFZsjRpWQ_v9E8u_2qHabSnYRkzGepMF9h6XbTGeE77wszmZVQ5otz8jYFikE4by-D5RgniGwdGvEejZRpdMckB9tH02IbofOFcOOe9e8-I-O5lK2Tivlu91C9c-18fS7Pu7_/s4032/0AFE8192-0A3E-41B1-A29A-94F7AEE184F6.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHk4vnIIuFZsjRpWQ_v9E8u_2qHabSnYRkzGepMF9h6XbTGeE77wszmZVQ5otz8jYFikE4by-D5RgniGwdGvEejZRpdMckB9tH02IbofOFcOOe9e8-I-O5lK2Tivlu91C9c-18fS7Pu7_/w240-h320/0AFE8192-0A3E-41B1-A29A-94F7AEE184F6.jpeg" width="240" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhIeoZwHADvg9by-3LjJvU4sxPDZOH7v0P50JWCRK0mfn8d44S6oHv5-iST83B_z4Oeh1sP8Zf6Uq8xFpFwdS8jf8nTAcXBGghlm2kkvmv6-pHRJ4ivVsCNo7pi2ldVMCYNbsN_t-uAlh/s4032/D1C4EB26-96F3-4742-8AD5-B4FFDDB346F6.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhIeoZwHADvg9by-3LjJvU4sxPDZOH7v0P50JWCRK0mfn8d44S6oHv5-iST83B_z4Oeh1sP8Zf6Uq8xFpFwdS8jf8nTAcXBGghlm2kkvmv6-pHRJ4ivVsCNo7pi2ldVMCYNbsN_t-uAlh/s320/D1C4EB26-96F3-4742-8AD5-B4FFDDB346F6.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-12101516520721589762021-06-07T08:35:00.002-07:002021-06-11T09:21:25.294-07:00TransEngland21<p>Rabbits dart left to right, right to left; occasionally they just stare, petrified in the glare of my headlight. To my right a pink moon has risen above an archipelago of clouds in the midnight blue sky. The moon looks oval but that seems implausible, it’s been a long night.</p><div><br /></div><div>The Racing Collective’s TransEngland Trial is normally a season opener taking place in early April . Unpredictable weather, an 11pm start and short days add to the challenge of threading an efficient route between Morecambe, Dunsop Bridge, Cam Fell, Tan Hill, Bransdale and Robin Hood’s Bay. The planning requires compromise; go full roadie and add miles or more direct with bigger tyres. In truth most riders opt for the middle way, gravel bikes with aero bars made up the majority of bikes lent against the white pier head railings in Morecambe. In previous years I’d always opted for the a gravel bike and a direct route but this year I brought 25mm tyres and a road bike, an old CAAD10 upgraded to Di2 and aero wheels. I was interested to see whether I could compensate for the extra miles with a faster rolling rig. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTz2-A24Ovqvy7tS2lkDGHrg-Yx0FVAl3l5n4OMvZBBEiF6LuMh8Ht_LH3tFOcf1jIALgeRu8vG4koIFWCodTJeOG8Rq2PG5bAo_EJgMQUoVJHR2XJ4zVNrq70f1iofOBR3CCTy-8J3Qr/s2048/9C927085-F3C6-4EA7-B1C3-5FD12E5725CB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTz2-A24Ovqvy7tS2lkDGHrg-Yx0FVAl3l5n4OMvZBBEiF6LuMh8Ht_LH3tFOcf1jIALgeRu8vG4koIFWCodTJeOG8Rq2PG5bAo_EJgMQUoVJHR2XJ4zVNrq70f1iofOBR3CCTy-8J3Qr/w200-h150/9C927085-F3C6-4EA7-B1C3-5FD12E5725CB.jpeg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxLhJMIR7jOEUEtZAqbflye2dJh2T8atHw-Cb_o9xkPNwzZtmg4qdHI242xRO_FDrpL05AmgMIJXhVPLi5FErEpH9aFnn3-rGkKOKYoKc1JQRzp6CgIC1rZAG8HIZAjiZyxbiVzn8n7ii/s2048/76D4EFAF-4DAD-4CF4-89CC-CE7E635BAF04.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxLhJMIR7jOEUEtZAqbflye2dJh2T8atHw-Cb_o9xkPNwzZtmg4qdHI242xRO_FDrpL05AmgMIJXhVPLi5FErEpH9aFnn3-rGkKOKYoKc1JQRzp6CgIC1rZAG8HIZAjiZyxbiVzn8n7ii/w200-h150/76D4EFAF-4DAD-4CF4-89CC-CE7E635BAF04.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><br /></div><div> </div><div>COVID19 precautions required The Racing Collective to replan the usual 11pm mass start in favour of an open start window running from 8pm - 11pm. A daylight start for the TransEngland was a rare privilege that I wasn’t going to miss out on. I was there at Morecambe Pier head for 7.59 to join a small socially distanced group trading route strategies and taking pre-ride selfies against the spectacular Lakeland backdrop across the estuary. <span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div><div>Nobody wanted to be the first rider rolling but eventually riders drifted off down the pier past the diners in the Midland Hotel. The greenway to Lancaster was as characterful as always; broken glass to keep you on your toes, weed smoke to calm them again. I was looking forward to the lanes of the Trough of Bowland.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pssst - pssst - psssst - PSSSTTT! I stopped at the top of the Quernmore climb to plug a hole in my rear tyre. A tubeless plug seemed to do the trick and I was soon chasing down the riders that had passed me. As the flashing red lights became brighter the gradient increased but I was soon over the top and dropping down the fast twisty descent towards CP1 in the Trough of Bowland. The still evening air was a novelty for those used to windy Pennine conditions but I paid the penalty every time I rode into a bank of midges, mouth open and gasping for oxygen only to choke on legions of black bugs. I came to an abrupt halt on the climb out of Slaidburn as my bike became two speed following a gear change. Fortunately a few minutes of daylight remained to throw it down on an overgrown verge whilst I looked for disconnected Di2 wires. Reconnected a few minutes later and the race was back on, well, kind of. For once I was enjoying the excitement of chasing distant riders but I wasn’t going to lose sleep over the results.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixikQ2Sx3BqaT_2JH_9P_4bzAPUethq5pnqEnYQI2Ghyphenhyphensu3N3Un6LOi5Xr0o7EEXtpz9J-O__5WAos9JFFkqR9yL_ICLdYf94cS0kf11qfzHJDtwePu84-XGy7c04-Ds2uWiu9ayV6a-2D/s2048/C8354BF6-4DA2-43B0-AE72-ED1A4FB4AE79.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixikQ2Sx3BqaT_2JH_9P_4bzAPUethq5pnqEnYQI2Ghyphenhyphensu3N3Un6LOi5Xr0o7EEXtpz9J-O__5WAos9JFFkqR9yL_ICLdYf94cS0kf11qfzHJDtwePu84-XGy7c04-Ds2uWiu9ayV6a-2D/w150-h200/C8354BF6-4DA2-43B0-AE72-ED1A4FB4AE79.jpeg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqsJnnO71MkpsbYlgx0ZW54-5t9R0ACKl6Ard850lD5qBxXpHE2_5H6v9lo4S3YhB-WQqsbDW-ZF1hgSNVwqR7PZQm3q_j4pHP8J1J6JJs_5ubqFzvUobVT6-VTT00xdF4F8_RVvGWsEB/s2048/FFA0ED67-F887-4927-B806-8A18991882C7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqsJnnO71MkpsbYlgx0ZW54-5t9R0ACKl6Ard850lD5qBxXpHE2_5H6v9lo4S3YhB-WQqsbDW-ZF1hgSNVwqR7PZQm3q_j4pHP8J1J6JJs_5ubqFzvUobVT6-VTT00xdF4F8_RVvGWsEB/w266-h200/FFA0ED67-F887-4927-B806-8A18991882C7.jpeg" width="266" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixikQ2Sx3BqaT_2JH_9P_4bzAPUethq5pnqEnYQI2Ghyphenhyphensu3N3Un6LOi5Xr0o7EEXtpz9J-O__5WAos9JFFkqR9yL_ICLdYf94cS0kf11qfzHJDtwePu84-XGy7c04-Ds2uWiu9ayV6a-2D/s2048/C8354BF6-4DA2-43B0-AE72-ED1A4FB4AE79.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Settle, Horton and Ribblehead were soon behind me and I was onto the gravel climb up to the Cam High Road. I first rode this way over thirty years ago on what seemed like an epic loop from Sedbergh riding an early 501 steel MTB. Back then I carried little food or spares and the closest thing to a mobile phone were the red telephone boxes that dotted the countryside. What I lacked in contingency kit I made up for with bulletproof optimism, and somehow this always got me home. Tonight I had spare chain links, pads, tubes, chainring and cleat bolts, down jacket and the rest; I may as have well been equipped for a haul across the Alps. The climb wasn’t really suitable for a road bike on deep section wheels but with a bit of careful line choice I reached the top unscathed. </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg9Lxymt89J4BRwWmk6zXfuh1qcZslm1MCx64H1yjwoCP0wiZWgTUlEOGxQMorc4xgyGp3RfV1b2_DiBPfq-vf8HSd_0J8v319OVjpd-M28vpTbxYmeeuGfWV1Pr8TT_Zi-FXErvDiYPv3/s1280/343F924A-5D08-4016-95BF-62A82D59F1FE.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg9Lxymt89J4BRwWmk6zXfuh1qcZslm1MCx64H1yjwoCP0wiZWgTUlEOGxQMorc4xgyGp3RfV1b2_DiBPfq-vf8HSd_0J8v319OVjpd-M28vpTbxYmeeuGfWV1Pr8TT_Zi-FXErvDiYPv3/w200-h150/343F924A-5D08-4016-95BF-62A82D59F1FE.jpeg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYTPdE7h6CCwkU7MFqkpVdB0cAnyNYAE7DfOlEDLeMuD6hCVIuPcvU4tIggfYTfeRxtjr_FQEON34WIAH6rm8vvZ7TFsKZIrJIEdB9FgDodUdcU2MyHpQKUiRPU-GhIQSRGT1833XlYfT/s2048/1E496347-F76B-4885-A19C-3171F0127D26.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYTPdE7h6CCwkU7MFqkpVdB0cAnyNYAE7DfOlEDLeMuD6hCVIuPcvU4tIggfYTfeRxtjr_FQEON34WIAH6rm8vvZ7TFsKZIrJIEdB9FgDodUdcU2MyHpQKUiRPU-GhIQSRGT1833XlYfT/w200-h150/1E496347-F76B-4885-A19C-3171F0127D26.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Selfie taken and I rolled off down the killer descent into Hawes, if your nerve is strong you can hit over 60mph down here but I feathered my brakes tonight, wary of nocturnal wildlife and mindful of the fresh scars on my right arm following an accident on King Alfred’s Way. Hawes was asleep, it was long past pub closing but my mind was on the looming climb to Buttertubs which kicks up to 25% in places. Sightings of distant red lights reminded me that this was no social ride and I pressed on into the small hours. </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWYaMbbRZbfm9hlPrMoAju2X4dCU4e4lHgNCxHXHtqBxU6R-7IIc-ZXqh75GtPxTjQzij5f_Teq7BtS7PXvrCEYqX_NMyCM8FfzATtsv4VUCP1DqaskNssNKNHJVFGIwX23uMljdgb3K5/s1280/937046EC-99BA-4F2D-8BE4-5044D7626DF2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWYaMbbRZbfm9hlPrMoAju2X4dCU4e4lHgNCxHXHtqBxU6R-7IIc-ZXqh75GtPxTjQzij5f_Teq7BtS7PXvrCEYqX_NMyCM8FfzATtsv4VUCP1DqaskNssNKNHJVFGIwX23uMljdgb3K5/w289-h217/937046EC-99BA-4F2D-8BE4-5044D7626DF2.jpeg" width="289" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7mSVEYB19XEO9Ai9MTEOVq42Zq6zWunpi1tWj23_lulfr7St8LjJQnt4OL2LLSS_rOB7cRrg3S4TVisTLwjOzSBeadTQ2A93QShPvZld9K1GaD19blvpM4SYdLyK7XZntOxJ7MumYV0S/s2048/5C48B18C-EB95-4815-8E96-399975BAE3A3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7mSVEYB19XEO9Ai9MTEOVq42Zq6zWunpi1tWj23_lulfr7St8LjJQnt4OL2LLSS_rOB7cRrg3S4TVisTLwjOzSBeadTQ2A93QShPvZld9K1GaD19blvpM4SYdLyK7XZntOxJ7MumYV0S/w290-h218/5C48B18C-EB95-4815-8E96-399975BAE3A3.jpeg" width="290" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Tan Hill was alight, a new outdoor seating area was festooned with strings of light bulbs. It was a little surreal, the kind of bar you’d expect to find in the corner of a festival field but here we were atop the Northern Pennines at the highest pub in England at 2am. As soon as the CP3 selfie and water were taken I was spinning east towards the market town of Thirsk. After the hills of the Dales this next section always felt to drag, after Reeth the road dropped into the wide valley separating the Dales from the Moors, with only the A1, A19 and the York - Edinburgh railway to break up the patchwork of arable fields. Early dawn was creeping in, un-noticed save the realisation that my headlight was no longer lighting the road. Whilst thick banks of cloud hid the colours of the dawn sky, limbs became chilled by the dense, dank air clinging to the valley floor. Left - right - right - left - left - left - right; I had no idea which direction I was headed, only the sweet scent of rapeseed interrupted by a manure strewn farmyard to punctuate progress. I blindly followed Komoot’s arrow down lane after lane until with a sense of relief I eventually reached Thirsk. The climb from here up Sutton Bank was a tough one after so many flat miles, I inched up the first 25% ramp as sunrise crept over the horizon. I would have celebrated at the top but unable to persuade both eyes to focus on the same piece of road I pulled over and lay down in a lay by for ten minutes. Bliss. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A rude awakening from my watch alarm; it was time to move - next stop CP4. I hadn’t ridden this way before and I was looking forward to the lanes after Helmsley. I didn’t see a car for hours en route to Bransdale, I threaded through dense verdant woodland until I emerged to climb to the most closely guarded of the North York Moors dales. </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuStxszRZWL627YoiEXbPrehmmEAoATCLXxuQDLcgNVi7oangTW34JxnwQtiERgj6jFOHGzAgGdkVQ97N_24ZFsXxeJ8_ECEXtVM58BPfMo-BKmeHtfAdYtYSoWpFD4RV7edr09X0HqWJq/s2048/5C52661D-4075-4336-8A03-3A6102A53B1C.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuStxszRZWL627YoiEXbPrehmmEAoATCLXxuQDLcgNVi7oangTW34JxnwQtiERgj6jFOHGzAgGdkVQ97N_24ZFsXxeJ8_ECEXtVM58BPfMo-BKmeHtfAdYtYSoWpFD4RV7edr09X0HqWJq/w240-h240/5C52661D-4075-4336-8A03-3A6102A53B1C.jpeg" width="240" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9vsygOyxdTM-2A_P0LYXUA4H95oVnGcx1EdXPgxa2IW9GFJgIblkcwYEUCjW0HY4v8q3x93iUIYb2Gy8V_QpVTz5vGqx8_Wo6PctyzxVPVOXRzhUfdinoD6aLRsRRJK8chyWmSNNBf6n/s1280/BFF2B97F-4F7E-4338-A231-9AB84DE6A831.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9vsygOyxdTM-2A_P0LYXUA4H95oVnGcx1EdXPgxa2IW9GFJgIblkcwYEUCjW0HY4v8q3x93iUIYb2Gy8V_QpVTz5vGqx8_Wo6PctyzxVPVOXRzhUfdinoD6aLRsRRJK8chyWmSNNBf6n/s320/BFF2B97F-4F7E-4338-A231-9AB84DE6A831.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>A visit to Bransdale church is like stepping back in time, it’s rare to see a car in this dale and the view has changed little in 100 years. Peaceful as this was I needed to move and I pointed my front wheel south towards Hutton-le-Hole. A quick check of the map confirmed that despite the tough gradients this was the best route to the coast so after Hutton I plugged on up to the the top of Rosedale Chimney, down the descent (occasionally waving a rear wheel in the breeze) and then back up the equally steep other side of the dale. I followed this occasionally buckled ribbon of tarmac under clear blue skies as it meandered northwest towards the sea, peering enviously at the tracks heading away from the road across the moors.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv14OpmdKpmlp9rOQccxEb1DhteL4wXd3-qfNbBwhV4t7j8z2JVBEWE3WyFyU8h9r17-bgRxyOIZwF1yBX7Qnf3m0t6n39_MZ3IEaNHjURyyn30XuJfAAXqOE86MrBY28aPjsYwSKBbq8w/s2048/CF14BB54-9F54-4ACD-97E8-F011CD0392C5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv14OpmdKpmlp9rOQccxEb1DhteL4wXd3-qfNbBwhV4t7j8z2JVBEWE3WyFyU8h9r17-bgRxyOIZwF1yBX7Qnf3m0t6n39_MZ3IEaNHjURyyn30XuJfAAXqOE86MrBY28aPjsYwSKBbq8w/w269-h202/CF14BB54-9F54-4ACD-97E8-F011CD0392C5.jpeg" width="269" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXISasGqE4aFFGNTwxFlVqOeku7PopW7vSJ5Py1xSrp_6CjuoySAPoCD_9EB9eVKlRxsVzQ3Xc6gUOgr867yLcoIq7nEF2c0VAg5trW6HZYHlmXmgQsIOrbmRqSiDAckOqQWYoV6IPWMS/s2048/AE455677-1FDA-4A4D-BC77-A65776855255.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXISasGqE4aFFGNTwxFlVqOeku7PopW7vSJ5Py1xSrp_6CjuoySAPoCD_9EB9eVKlRxsVzQ3Xc6gUOgr867yLcoIq7nEF2c0VAg5trW6HZYHlmXmgQsIOrbmRqSiDAckOqQWYoV6IPWMS/w150-h200/AE455677-1FDA-4A4D-BC77-A65776855255.jpeg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNel1s07Y54FaHI9nS8cu-amGo_-MmPues_jwlbogUhPhEYXC3x02oAYIik5-pOHkkBz2BeUl5v4VQOs74n4fSNrb2jCjHh6Fxo6feBrOebG-A9cjx-l4fWsl_Wd8c3h_g0rXXUAL8LSS4/s2048/0229FBC8-CB74-4E28-B3DD-C430B00F2851.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNel1s07Y54FaHI9nS8cu-amGo_-MmPues_jwlbogUhPhEYXC3x02oAYIik5-pOHkkBz2BeUl5v4VQOs74n4fSNrb2jCjHh6Fxo6feBrOebG-A9cjx-l4fWsl_Wd8c3h_g0rXXUAL8LSS4/w150-h200/0229FBC8-CB74-4E28-B3DD-C430B00F2851.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>A steep drop into the meagre ford at Egmont Bridge preceded a taxing 33% climb up to Egmont. I wasn’t expecting it but by this point in a ride you just deal with whatever the road throws at you. The lanes to Whitby were a riot of bucolic English summer, cow parsley vying with buttercups for attention on the verges between ordered columns of hawthorn and hornbeam. I rejoined the rest of the world above Whitby. I slotted into the steady stream of caged day trippers descending from the Fylingdales road only to discover that my rear tyre had partially deflated mid way through a roundabout.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTtSctZaZq26-0QmCNDgJl78rQ8VPn1geUnmvBc_2Vsx34LPCuxqUKolr_d-LDGcDzRdi2TwIKX86XDf7ldQhDeVLwrwxTw66yxNGzahChS6hgTH-mtauCyzGV4iQKHIWgCYbxKM31COP/s2048/2A8C6BCA-C1A9-41E1-B4E0-5F4F63778072.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTtSctZaZq26-0QmCNDgJl78rQ8VPn1geUnmvBc_2Vsx34LPCuxqUKolr_d-LDGcDzRdi2TwIKX86XDf7ldQhDeVLwrwxTw66yxNGzahChS6hgTH-mtauCyzGV4iQKHIWgCYbxKM31COP/w279-h209/2A8C6BCA-C1A9-41E1-B4E0-5F4F63778072.jpeg" width="279" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1QInqT9mjEn5G4qPYfb3-cE9_2cDOJHAy631l9YpXmj-bCxLFG8bYtIgJzoACkk3hItqhfcclP4w53jUq9cotqF12FEESY0hd0K9_tHUmWkhj6iaeVhbOhdgjTCGmOVI83GFFsQvRRs5/s1280/DE9F4B2A-1D3F-4396-A9BC-559BB52DE7E8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1QInqT9mjEn5G4qPYfb3-cE9_2cDOJHAy631l9YpXmj-bCxLFG8bYtIgJzoACkk3hItqhfcclP4w53jUq9cotqF12FEESY0hd0K9_tHUmWkhj6iaeVhbOhdgjTCGmOVI83GFFsQvRRs5/w279-h209/DE9F4B2A-1D3F-4396-A9BC-559BB52DE7E8.jpeg" width="279" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div>An orange clad rider was ascending the Robin Hood’s Bay climb as I descended - a reminder not to loiter, and I didn’t. Straight back up that hill and onto the cinder track south. As soon as I could I picked up some asphalt and progress was good despite the headwind. I spotted the same rider once more in north Scarborough so I took a gamble on my route and split downhill to join the dawdling tourists on Marine Drive as he stuck to the main road. The headwind was especially savage by the sea but I knew the finish would soon be in sight, I pushed on to thread through the zombie crowds on the pier and I arrived at the Diving Belle. Finisher's selfie taken and tweeted, I could finally relax and swap tales with the other finishers in the Scarborough sunshine.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio-tHxhLteshqoAfftI4foW6neLq65vbHqTwMr_HqUoddFJgNHjlpyD3-0xtNYQqTW_W9Dx8PWp4tAT86fHX3nvpn_m45qKbuhFBQRiqO-EK9b_bylwL7SiW4H785oBskK1VVdk_EMoLoV/s2048/AAB0CB2C-589E-4206-86A9-8E0E695259B7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio-tHxhLteshqoAfftI4foW6neLq65vbHqTwMr_HqUoddFJgNHjlpyD3-0xtNYQqTW_W9Dx8PWp4tAT86fHX3nvpn_m45qKbuhFBQRiqO-EK9b_bylwL7SiW4H785oBskK1VVdk_EMoLoV/s320/AAB0CB2C-589E-4206-86A9-8E0E695259B7.jpeg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgc9AyNU1QIgcZBhT9ZDr1bOuv6eUFFIHLgsvcY3HeF4rqMXlN4IhbchW1wDP8lyPD0RPGz-_6Sb6TNqOT64t5-n1fxk_6102QT6JtS5lAMhYqruYwnv4Tcf-pY5WT3P_JogM6NDsxS44i/s1280/74C0CB90-AAA1-46BD-BE48-DBFEC890D97B.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgc9AyNU1QIgcZBhT9ZDr1bOuv6eUFFIHLgsvcY3HeF4rqMXlN4IhbchW1wDP8lyPD0RPGz-_6Sb6TNqOT64t5-n1fxk_6102QT6JtS5lAMhYqruYwnv4Tcf-pY5WT3P_JogM6NDsxS44i/w180-h240/74C0CB90-AAA1-46BD-BE48-DBFEC890D97B.jpeg" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Racing Collective organise a series of self-supported rides through the year, find out more and get involved at <a href="http://www.theracingcollective.com" target="_blank">www.theracingcollective.com</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div>Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-9767662440438583232019-09-12T10:47:00.002-07:002019-09-15T11:06:29.218-07:00Going Further<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Head swimming, legs failing and pulse racing. Every sense is shouting STOP!!! I can’t fight it any longer. I glance down at my rear wheel, I have two easier gears remaining, on any other day I wouldn’t need them for this 5% climb but today I am riding through treacle. The 30 degree heat is messing with my head and my legs. Doubt and regret swill around my normally positive head.<br />
<br />
Did I start too quick? Why am I here? What’s the point?<br />
<br />
My legs slow and I veer towards the verge, succumbing to that instinct to shut down. Wobbling, I get off the bike and grab the handlebars with my left hand and the seat with my right, empty arms aching with the effort of propping my torso. Waves of nausea wash over me, my head spins and everything sounds like I'm under water. I lean forward and sweat pours down my face from under my helmet, I can’t drink enough water to replace the sweat.<br />
<br />
I need to reset. Ten minutes, I’ll take ten minutes sleep and then see how I feel because I can’t carry on like this.<br />
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I set an alarm for 3.40pm and lie down in the long grass under a tree at the roadside. 6 minutes with my eyes closed and I hear a rider go past, I give him a limp thumbs up. Persevering through the nauseous fug of heatstroke I then inch up into the broad leaf woodlands that cling to the side of Mount Fourcat. I'm defeated by the sight of a 200m ramp, I dismount and push.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSJj04Guw4qWcjwvZrUcBnjEYdh_y9XHdKZq8mvVrnDu2OjEvl24OV52OrA-mVgmWHLprJIbXP0nx5gjLvsCjtJq92O-YApGPdnVPOHwmGIyPhpf3GVwk1gY7PRzPp1kmMuliOGFXwnRJ/s1600/IMG_7995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSJj04Guw4qWcjwvZrUcBnjEYdh_y9XHdKZq8mvVrnDu2OjEvl24OV52OrA-mVgmWHLprJIbXP0nx5gjLvsCjtJq92O-YApGPdnVPOHwmGIyPhpf3GVwk1gY7PRzPp1kmMuliOGFXwnRJ/s640/IMG_7995.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the approach to Mount Fourcat</td></tr>
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10 minutes pass and I hear a rider behind, it's the eternally cheerful Emma Pooley making conversation as she passes. I’m not very sociable this afternoon and she's soon powering away up the mountain, a blaze of turquoise amidst the dark green beech foliage. Breaking out of the tree cover a couple of hours before Camille’s sunset curfew I’m shoving my bike once more up a steep grassy slope. The clatter of alpine sheep bells, my laboured breathing and the buzzing of flies swarming around my dripping head accompany the hike-a-bike up Mount Fourcat. I'm too weak to out run the flies which soon coat my arms, marooned in glistening sweat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguVNf2oWPeP_d-dzg99nWTyt3ylwrHBAbcDyl43FLnBbYJ6sz4fAH697m1-QALiUm8o-fFOSpUMuCbVIWXM8USH7aj-qeYimcNDCd_Srgr6qsS52aGNbmrj4yY4cPPPvaloh2qO9vqzW-X/s1600/IMG_7999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguVNf2oWPeP_d-dzg99nWTyt3ylwrHBAbcDyl43FLnBbYJ6sz4fAH697m1-QALiUm8o-fFOSpUMuCbVIWXM8USH7aj-qeYimcNDCd_Srgr6qsS52aGNbmrj4yY4cPPPvaloh2qO9vqzW-X/s640/IMG_7999.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CP1 on Mount Fourcat lies straight up</td></tr>
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Any race mojo is dead, this is about survival. I have to survive a day. I can't quit on day one so I mentally delete that possibility. One step at a time, I only have to make it onto the peak that hovers far above my eye line. A couple more riders push past me, I'm beyond caring.<br />
Beyond the next false summit I find Josh Ibbett suffering in the heat. He tells me that more than half the field is struggling. I plod on, raising my laden Cannondale up onto my back for the rockier sections, one foot in front of the other until I'm once again forced to the ground by crippling cramp in my left leg. I've never known cramp like this, I can't move my keg - its locked prostrate in agony. Having never suffered from cramp before it takes hours to realise that I'm low on salt. Eventually I reach a basic refuge on Mount Fourcat’s ridge. Desperate for water I fill my pack from a tank outside the hut, my thirst undiminished by its smoky taste.<br />
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Notchas arrives close behind me with the bright idea of leaving the bikes here whilst we climb on foot to the summit checkpoint. Good plan, I'm too tired to argue. Further's race director and master puppeteer Camille haunts the checkpoint dressed in white linen, an apparition in my overheated mind. The sun has dropped low and having retrieved my bike I speed down a rough track with Notchas to escape the mountain. Philippa Battye completes the trio blazing down the mountain in search of pizza, racing the sinking sun over the western Pyrenees. Our reward awaits below, pizzas and copious quantities of coke in a bar already occupied by fatigued racers. We take our places next to Josh Ibbett and Lee Craigie and order a pizza each. The piece of pizza that Josh offers me is probably the best I've ever tasted, such is my hunger. The meal revives me and I set off into the night to ride another 15km in search of a bivvy in the hills. Day 1 ends soon after midnight as I fall asleep gazing up at the star littered sky from a forest clearing.<br />
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Day 2 will be easier I tell myself. Little lies, to keep the wheels rolling...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">herding cows </td></tr>
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A freewheel wakes me - I've slept through my alarm. It’s a promising start, a breakfast of cold pizza eaten at the side of a track 1000m above villages dotting the valley far beneath me. A second breakfast of coffee and bread with Philippa at the Col du Rat is good preparation for the next two cols which are a day’s work. Hours later I crawl up the tarmac approach to the Port du Rat in 34 degree heat, the event film crew joining me alongside for the steep final section. I’m glad to reach the hike-a-bike into Andorra but it’s tough; a narrow sheep track zig-zagging up a 45 degree slope to the 2400m contour.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the end of the road lies ahead</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoy0VxLS0FVyisGVh8aIpdMunTYCFAjOfhtC0BTix7LKCqsgO8HtBAfiVAp10QoZUGH_7IDEStM_mDijVTPs4T_tB5McfH39VZHyKockUCK58KLHXLFcpxzG4WnfeV64tNHeJATFszEYUB/s1600/IMG_8050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoy0VxLS0FVyisGVh8aIpdMunTYCFAjOfhtC0BTix7LKCqsgO8HtBAfiVAp10QoZUGH_7IDEStM_mDijVTPs4T_tB5McfH39VZHyKockUCK58KLHXLFcpxzG4WnfeV64tNHeJATFszEYUB/s640/IMG_8050.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the approach to the Port du Rat</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wjribYY-6lvoYGRTa3epxOk_a64KQAN1K2gcEd9v3QdTiOXZTT8EDTenh_7pbsjZgnuRH27Zx8UB2AqDlBe6NSBlZkhPxgZNOmrChX1p6q-faHWuuQrvU7g3VjPy_C5lE32zul8WDeBN/s1600/IMG_8069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wjribYY-6lvoYGRTa3epxOk_a64KQAN1K2gcEd9v3QdTiOXZTT8EDTenh_7pbsjZgnuRH27Zx8UB2AqDlBe6NSBlZkhPxgZNOmrChX1p6q-faHWuuQrvU7g3VjPy_C5lE32zul8WDeBN/s640/IMG_8069.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">selfie from the Port du Rat</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4iCsgC4qBdlsFHBmuiEGzJfhmzkU8J0F6nBYeaFD91OgxnqgAUkRv3w0G49WRrzIw6C1NHnMXu_nc3TbNtvDp_xw9jGf7B8Ld2RtBr1cJoVKvnEQDw0KvHa54EbVl80aspyZc4wyu4TcR/s1600/IMG_8072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4iCsgC4qBdlsFHBmuiEGzJfhmzkU8J0F6nBYeaFD91OgxnqgAUkRv3w0G49WRrzIw6C1NHnMXu_nc3TbNtvDp_xw9jGf7B8Ld2RtBr1cJoVKvnEQDw0KvHa54EbVl80aspyZc4wyu4TcR/s640/IMG_8072.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">at the summit</td></tr>
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The summit isn’t even the end of it, the first couple of hundred meters of descent are unrideable. At least the 24k descent into Andorra is more enjoyable, I even find a car or two to overtake.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zq_4NazhDlWIWpKjkuOaSOUTH8Pprr_vkv7LYKJMs6vSDeLmMhyFdU4BFkgDQxEAokxJ4Eh3S2V2ZbLoccRdcZ-3TFa9lol3D_0jBU8yoicFnlvUby8QGCCNgenBzMkrwsJt3Hu9vs08/s1600/IMG_8073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zq_4NazhDlWIWpKjkuOaSOUTH8Pprr_vkv7LYKJMs6vSDeLmMhyFdU4BFkgDQxEAokxJ4Eh3S2V2ZbLoccRdcZ-3TFa9lol3D_0jBU8yoicFnlvUby8QGCCNgenBzMkrwsJt3Hu9vs08/s640/IMG_8073.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">portal to Andorra</td></tr>
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A restaurant is found and I'm eventually joined by Philippa and Notchas. We’re embargoed, race rules stipulate we can’t leave Andorra via the Port du Cabus until sunrise. I’m not hiding in the valley though, post dinner I climb 1000m in the dark to a panoramic bivvy in a meadow near the Port de Cabus.<br />
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Again I’m woken by a rider passing me the next morning. Although it's still dark I'm wrenched from my bivvy, eager to make progress. However, there's no way I'm missing the sun's rebirth into a cloudless blue sky from my 2300m vantage point. I wait 20 minutes at the border col to see the sun emerge from the eastern Pyrenees, peeping over a distant col to rise into a cloudless sky of red, orange and a hundred other shades of sunrise.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ks4bctS-sn0gjoRIzQjc_1vSEcjpEdB5BX8Pnd6kIPTPdHH6y5uLVDuum4KH92_a_LzoVYsMNQdhJyIY3w62WnT8Tj9wB6R4ddg3DvGWI9mz2TwEkxIcdTlLKHKK9ElW_E1l8CRYFX_7/s1600/IMG_8082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ks4bctS-sn0gjoRIzQjc_1vSEcjpEdB5BX8Pnd6kIPTPdHH6y5uLVDuum4KH92_a_LzoVYsMNQdhJyIY3w62WnT8Tj9wB6R4ddg3DvGWI9mz2TwEkxIcdTlLKHKK9ElW_E1l8CRYFX_7/s640/IMG_8082.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sunrise at the Port du Cabus</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8QXHycS91liph_1dAVuX9yZ7A0UuoaCGbn5OaG8Bx6MsgEbMijWVmF1NTpWpkA7FM6pu0Gpmne19bkDnhyUM6oWH3vA3HsRBlRzx67cMxkxjP6PtGJEwndnPRNSWOFXoBv1pPXdktVIV/s1600/IMG_8095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8QXHycS91liph_1dAVuX9yZ7A0UuoaCGbn5OaG8Bx6MsgEbMijWVmF1NTpWpkA7FM6pu0Gpmne19bkDnhyUM6oWH3vA3HsRBlRzx67cMxkxjP6PtGJEwndnPRNSWOFXoBv1pPXdktVIV/s640/IMG_8095.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">descent from the Port du Cabus past smuggler's village</td></tr>
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Day 3's pièce de résistance is a hike back into France over the Port d'Aula. It is frankly ridiculous, a two hour carry up a pathless 30 degree slope following a line on my iPhone. I stop every ten minutes or so to rest and optimistically examine the Komoot map only to be reminded that there's still no path ahead. Below me Philippa Battye traces a similar route, equally laboured although I bet she’s still smiling. Indefatigable. The racers that are still moving share that quality and now I'm in neck deep there's definitely no quitting. In reality I'm happy to be in the mountains - its cooler up here and the views are worth the pain in my aching legs, back and arms.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdVv6GNTyRxFBajS6mZO69JkIlctREY6wkgdnMn_odiYgc1tzKzJWKE1RB8IOy5F3iFZ3KbryhfDDB7nTQZ6KiEJqHraOThWA8_85CWoIGTIAz_KRBEcRdHKcEqz6Qrar8hnlGQ_aUSYi/s1600/IMG_8113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdVv6GNTyRxFBajS6mZO69JkIlctREY6wkgdnMn_odiYgc1tzKzJWKE1RB8IOy5F3iFZ3KbryhfDDB7nTQZ6KiEJqHraOThWA8_85CWoIGTIAz_KRBEcRdHKcEqz6Qrar8hnlGQ_aUSYi/s320/IMG_8113.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="240" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE82kd4arfQ0TXyTQDBU1K685rlRwRxyGF_reMWordqNtBP3xb432vBT9k4NQjQkMvO8T0zuP4JhwyvqDGdPRt29l_YR371ZIStFTZrjgqm3MXw1kkb7dl7uWuCik6vpYf1EE94GDsR9ck/s1600/IMG_8118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE82kd4arfQ0TXyTQDBU1K685rlRwRxyGF_reMWordqNtBP3xb432vBT9k4NQjQkMvO8T0zuP4JhwyvqDGdPRt29l_YR371ZIStFTZrjgqm3MXw1kkb7dl7uWuCik6vpYf1EE94GDsR9ck/s320/IMG_8118.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="320" /></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE8OmUtPd6CFA1XJgoUY7chxv_hnbc0OLQTLtsZv12ZJkEKjLFqBUlt5e5HNop7k7ZEuTz7-K9SXrYaqhlVvZCWbknshFZj-5dkLN7qcrNTye6_Zrd8-nyi5_IYQASmTX5GqLlV8vWYv-/s1600/IMG_8120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE8OmUtPd6CFA1XJgoUY7chxv_hnbc0OLQTLtsZv12ZJkEKjLFqBUlt5e5HNop7k7ZEuTz7-K9SXrYaqhlVvZCWbknshFZj-5dkLN7qcrNTye6_Zrd8-nyi5_IYQASmTX5GqLlV8vWYv-/s640/IMG_8120.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lunchtime at the Port d'Aula</td></tr>
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Eventually there is some respite, a glacial bowl below the col where I can push my bike. The final carry feels victorious so I stop at the col and break out a baguette, cheese slices and a jar of olive tapenade, I’ve earned lunch. The descent goes on for ever, nearly 2000m of track snakes towards the valley reminding me of the Col de Fenestre in the Alps. Photos are taken and calipers cook rotors.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQt0uMXX5BDTC2mdW4H2enHxXafIiMooEnCRBWhH9oiBfaGmPXvgiGqmI08hwuN2-TIZ4ERdVNoEDviY4Jzmf1VT8O_ZxIe9InzyJadc2tymACw9K1E5Omeu-DxV5Ga7XQhNlpLdCsj2M7/s1600/IMG_8125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQt0uMXX5BDTC2mdW4H2enHxXafIiMooEnCRBWhH9oiBfaGmPXvgiGqmI08hwuN2-TIZ4ERdVNoEDviY4Jzmf1VT8O_ZxIe9InzyJadc2tymACw9K1E5Omeu-DxV5Ga7XQhNlpLdCsj2M7/s640/IMG_8125.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></div>
Unforgettable.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkv6F9SbYWW6K56gLxSIiQNx_5Nzu46o_3Eip_EHCHge_a7MRIoRUaDfLbVRLKwKOHyoSuFyCWAslV6dteesbyW4cCTLIua8qZMeBQJnfKiHA3qN7HakJKOe9xqaOd3cexf3a2g1K1RDt/s1600/IMG_8126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkv6F9SbYWW6K56gLxSIiQNx_5Nzu46o_3Eip_EHCHge_a7MRIoRUaDfLbVRLKwKOHyoSuFyCWAslV6dteesbyW4cCTLIua8qZMeBQJnfKiHA3qN7HakJKOe9xqaOd3cexf3a2g1K1RDt/s640/IMG_8126.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></div>
Arriving back in Massat that evening I stop at a bar for a couple of Leffe’s, a vegetarian pizza and a double espresso convinced that I've broken the back of the race.<br />
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Philippa rolls in with Lee Craigie just as I’m leaving but I’m done with hanging around - this thing needs finishing. I know the Col de Peguere is first up, described as a wall of tarmac averaging 18% over the first kilometer it should intimidate but after the last couple of days it’s no big deal. I spin 32 teeth up it arriving at the summit in darkness.<br />
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I’m expecting tonight to drag but the changing scenery and knowledge that I’m not going to sleep until I’m back at Zero Neuf keep me sharp. Shortly after midnight, I make myself another cheese baguette in a picnic area at the start of the final segment. This segment is the sting in Further’s tail, within 2 km I’m stumbling through the limestone debris of a river bed, creepers catching my helmet, brambles grabbing at my clothes. A tree branch swipes the contact lens from my right eye, and I check my sense of humour; yep we’re good - we’re going to do this.<br />
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Even after the segment is completed (more that two hours later) I'm still not out of the woods. My route back to the finish starts with a steep technical descent through dense beech woodland littered with fallen trees and drop offs - I’m surprised by how much I enjoy it. The final 40k back to Zero Neuf are dull by comparison, I plan what I’ll do on my arrival as I spin along - sleep is high up the list. Rounding a corner and spotting the house at Zero Neuf I'm surprised to see lights and people. I’m over the moon when I turn into the finish to the sound of cheers. There are people waiting!!! I’m given a hero’s reception by Camille, Mike and the rest of the crew.<br />
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All that remains is to drink some fine whisky and work out when I’m moving to the Ariege. That was one magic and very memorable experience.<br />
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<h3>
The Event</h3>
Further consisted of 12 'Sectors' or parcours which had to be ridden in order linked together by a route of the rider's choosing. The clock started on Friday at 10.45am and stopped whenever the rider crossed the finish line. 28 riders started, 8 finished. Further will take place again in 2020, but the route will be different.<br />
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Thanks to Camille McMillan for the race, Mike and Jos at Zero Neuf for their hospitality and the other riders for their positive vibes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angus Young loves a big melon</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcUniRlltJUFhFhc1sUhYYXS6heEydBSaITl94JrpVFAV878M7NkL2UZVLu7NvThSR1HzQsNFPqPL43gv0A2DdNByQw37mU4lJ14qAffXlg2vXaCCTP3sAVJ0z5x6iaBy8RWjuJKaXncx/s1600/IMG_8175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcUniRlltJUFhFhc1sUhYYXS6heEydBSaITl94JrpVFAV878M7NkL2UZVLu7NvThSR1HzQsNFPqPL43gv0A2DdNByQw37mU4lJ14qAffXlg2vXaCCTP3sAVJ0z5x6iaBy8RWjuJKaXncx/s640/IMG_8175.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">awards presentation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieHig0E9MRWguI9dp-ZZj5tcLRsYGQ_C8HOgf8Ih8HZOHZeGmFnShlhYO08M7z3j4KfRagHktkbcJOo6WaLDgj-By7cjAAiGuCmlwgTj9Vzk_5e5X7h20lkU0cOAZbdZOQZzWdknhszxV/s1600/IMG_7982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieHig0E9MRWguI9dp-ZZj5tcLRsYGQ_C8HOgf8Ih8HZOHZeGmFnShlhYO08M7z3j4KfRagHktkbcJOo6WaLDgj-By7cjAAiGuCmlwgTj9Vzk_5e5X7h20lkU0cOAZbdZOQZzWdknhszxV/s640/IMG_7982.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">camp site</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkkTaB1Tn0_6AGRVIfCw2SxotInNtxWC8GV98fYbsPhfYtMRNgigHPMMkLV5_E0yGJcfp1FqTGspuq5oUbQA8oNN74taNW2jpwrDGc2u_Ju6zabdqAXB4FyhVPr6m3sxx-7yNinlLGTOI/s1600/IMG_7989.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkkTaB1Tn0_6AGRVIfCw2SxotInNtxWC8GV98fYbsPhfYtMRNgigHPMMkLV5_E0yGJcfp1FqTGspuq5oUbQA8oNN74taNW2jpwrDGc2u_Ju6zabdqAXB4FyhVPr6m3sxx-7yNinlLGTOI/s640/IMG_7989.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pre-race faffing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDT3tyiO-57AAf4Y0R8FyDE-qVcG3cDI5-x0KNALYa6BkpJERbkBvfMTdExvPPL59NQuLj7h67MmgGy8OnPsN3LKG7H7MQGXsZjCYMVr58tcLcH_h3WOd0O_qtV90jEbETbXhjO5GzbMN/s1600/IMG_7992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-widwidth="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDT3tyiO-57AAf4Y0R8FyDE-qVcG3cDI5-x0KNALYa6BkpJERbkBvfMTdExvPPL59NQuLj7h67MmgGy8OnPsN3LKG7H7MQGXsZjCYMVr58tcLcH_h3WOd0O_qtV90jEbETbXhjO5GzbMN/s640/IMG_7992.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" th="1600" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">this was the only time we went through rather than over</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-ISikPKv1qpqveR3VgbZqg-BhIZ8j1xr5j2-EWjpOIe3XTGM_x0jLijkgqUjRwRbmnt-GAQ_kacVXlt6fuyg2WrFIDAB2UcYQk3TEv2yvJk7L4uKSHR9Pqa-ZuQbNk4T2jZf5dQHalsl/s1600/AugustusFarmerFP30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1191" data-original-width="1500" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-ISikPKv1qpqveR3VgbZqg-BhIZ8j1xr5j2-EWjpOIe3XTGM_x0jLijkgqUjRwRbmnt-GAQ_kacVXlt6fuyg2WrFIDAB2UcYQk3TEv2yvJk7L4uKSHR9Pqa-ZuQbNk4T2jZf5dQHalsl/s640/AugustusFarmerFP30.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">post race portrait</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CB55nP25KlEforaLyeicL4F8yF8kLERlk8IpqAyYWBUihidEk_W0LPPCCOziiKUdjc6dpaN76DSjew74Ja9_JXUEUFvFfITSb9y19ey_7mAeHvXPWOL1QTzVG_g6OO8adtOmkDUKLhvv/s1600/IMG_7993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CB55nP25KlEforaLyeicL4F8yF8kLERlk8IpqAyYWBUihidEk_W0LPPCCOziiKUdjc6dpaN76DSjew74Ja9_JXUEUFvFfITSb9y19ey_7mAeHvXPWOL1QTzVG_g6OO8adtOmkDUKLhvv/s640/IMG_7993.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
Kit</h3>
Cannondale Slate modified to conventional fork with Whisky fork and SP dynamo by Velofondista<br />
K-Lite charging and lights<br />
Apidura bags<br />
Schwalbe G-One Bite tyres (650B x 41mm)Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-81443431898334243802019-08-15T11:53:00.000-07:002019-08-15T13:00:39.712-07:00Barcelona or Bust<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-size-adjust: 100%;">We emerge from Bordeaux airport at midnight. Cigarette smoke and cheap perfume taint the balmy night as we assemble our bikes under sodium lamps. Nearby, taxi drivers</span> <span style="text-size-adjust: 100%;">kick banter around to fill the slow, small hours. </span><br />
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15 year old Arran and I have flown here to start a bike ride which will finish in 6 days time in Port de Pollença, Mallorca - if all goes to plan. First though, we must ride to Barcelona over some of the biggest mountain passes in south western Europe. That is the full extent of our plan, we're carrying bikepacking gear and will sleep and eat where we can.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDtxqk-t8OznrGz1pZ6Z954r_zSm1hc7Cexaz60ZFyE8Rax224xkdl4_5tf1bMpZwvwXqK9HAKjNUsXe6byUqChQ7neMjq_D5hmpu1CZLTyLxfPK7hiO2q4jQprE48gmv66jqmIobs5nb/s1600/01EB545F-CBF4-4A6E-8BF5-409815AACB2C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDtxqk-t8OznrGz1pZ6Z954r_zSm1hc7Cexaz60ZFyE8Rax224xkdl4_5tf1bMpZwvwXqK9HAKjNUsXe6byUqChQ7neMjq_D5hmpu1CZLTyLxfPK7hiO2q4jQprE48gmv66jqmIobs5nb/s200/01EB545F-CBF4-4A6E-8BF5-409815AACB2C.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a></div>
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<div>
The stark white light of Monday morning floods the white walls of the breakfast room in our hotel. We come round slowly from a short night's sleep. Suitably stuffed we meander out of Bordeaux along bike lanes which usher us towards the Atlantic coast. Suburbs give way to ancient pine heathland, bracken and heather sweltering under big blue skies. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK7VSt-1rHWYrRjOvxzZWU3KVUa4tu0bEoYzuPp8BKc4aB2vchAUQI-m-2tzeGxBTrNSxOTAfwyFO_dOnYLv4j_HPlEpztdJvT9Ktl55s9bnApvohEOp5K0LODMrZziyHeljtcFm4KuA-/s1600/3AD85C7D-31AB-4D3C-BCF2-A117E5A34330.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK7VSt-1rHWYrRjOvxzZWU3KVUa4tu0bEoYzuPp8BKc4aB2vchAUQI-m-2tzeGxBTrNSxOTAfwyFO_dOnYLv4j_HPlEpztdJvT9Ktl55s9bnApvohEOp5K0LODMrZziyHeljtcFm4KuA-/s640/3AD85C7D-31AB-4D3C-BCF2-A117E5A34330.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div>
The afternoon sees heathland give way to fields of neck high corn. At times it’s a little like a labyrinth, kilometres of narrow lanes flanked by tight rows of head high corn, we blindly follow the arrows on my iPhone keeping an eye skyward for reassurance we are moving south. Skies are darkening by early evening, we hope the threat of rain is empty. That said, water is what we need. Thirst builds with the arrival of dusk, we need water before the morning but every village is dry. We try a few taps at houses shuttered up for the summer break but they are all dry. Ten minutes after sunset on another straight lane between fields I notice a sign outside the back gate of a farm house, “eau potable”. There’s a light on so I knock on the back door and check it’s ok to use the tap in the back garden “bien sur” replies the farmer. </div>
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<div>
Lucky.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzExKskuOg7y6jM-moCTA-rVYwwQwRALIrlL1XjtCGeD1g7svHot7Zhkf59rs5rXDrFD_lq0fN5ChRj2O88XCTvxY0iIVo8bQkN1EySofF1vT3cvnwg0WSbMvuC2KsOraSMLG5bTEGs77/s1600/6D51D90B-78CE-47A3-B919-083F5ECB3634.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzExKskuOg7y6jM-moCTA-rVYwwQwRALIrlL1XjtCGeD1g7svHot7Zhkf59rs5rXDrFD_lq0fN5ChRj2O88XCTvxY0iIVo8bQkN1EySofF1vT3cvnwg0WSbMvuC2KsOraSMLG5bTEGs77/s640/6D51D90B-78CE-47A3-B919-083F5ECB3634.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></div>
Fifteen minutes later Arran spots a five star bivvy spot. Short grass, trees for shelter, running water and a toilet. All beside a lake with enough breeze to keep the bugs at bay. Duck calls punctuate the darkness until sleep.<br />
<h3>
Day 2 </h3>
Tat tat tat tat.<br />
Raindrops falling on my bivvy bag, the sky is sullen. We start the day with hike-a-bike up a steep clay track just as the heavens open. Fat drops of rain which soak us both through and leave us feeling apprehensive - we're in trouble if the rest of the day is this slow and this wet but a forecast of dry skies later in the day keeps me optimistic. Near Lourdes we steal our first glimpse of the mountains through low cloud, YES! Our progress miraculously picks up by 3kph instantly. Security is tight in Lourdes, a tall security fence surrounds the religious centre and guards won’t even allow a bicycle into the area around the shrine. We stop at a cafe in a nearby village which promises a "museo de velo". Sure enough, a shrine to a former world cyclocross and Tour de France champion. It's a fitting start to our climb up the Tourmalet. As we creep past the 1000m contour I can smell and hear the mountains despite the poor visibility. Cold damp air carries the scent of cow dung and mountain herbs. Cowbells ring out from high above and the occasional whir of a free hub heralds another black lycra clad road warrior plummeting from the clouds. Our progress against gravity is less dramatic but no less determined, without a view progress is judged solely by the markers every 1km; “1670m 6km moyen 8.5%” - a warning, a sentence to serve, or the promise of emancipation. It depends on your point of view.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjws5N6yOTeQl4Wll96lEgq5LmqMYlClrfbRPtOjghjtYidABouNiTkw_qdwbs0v1JWLPSZ5r4AeOROKMpce8GhExfO8Xqr8EIPCiSEcc_RIlD60EQjBbcU36hn3ksgUeOg_CbIDOPt85Qy/s1600/41164A91-7378-4DFF-AD9B-3D6D05AFBA56.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjws5N6yOTeQl4Wll96lEgq5LmqMYlClrfbRPtOjghjtYidABouNiTkw_qdwbs0v1JWLPSZ5r4AeOROKMpce8GhExfO8Xqr8EIPCiSEcc_RIlD60EQjBbcU36hn3ksgUeOg_CbIDOPt85Qy/s640/41164A91-7378-4DFF-AD9B-3D6D05AFBA56.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arran on the Tourmalet old road</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Emancipation is cold and wet, we summit soaked by sweat and drizzle anxious to descend from the cloud before we get chilled. A hotel is found on the descent, we're both ready for a good meal and a hot shower.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCm-HQWo0IJoN0UA_Za5QNWmynLoGDNq-WOhpNDCKzzweMDezI75M9MWACAKx8Y7KMglW530KirPAG7k8elDCmIEzq1hYK-O1Xw6sYsk4ZgzdDIB7rsorI5h2Of5EweE5jCrqrtAyyz6to/s1600/9D12C0FD-9456-4780-9365-32F79F8277D6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1353" data-original-width="1353" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCm-HQWo0IJoN0UA_Za5QNWmynLoGDNq-WOhpNDCKzzweMDezI75M9MWACAKx8Y7KMglW530KirPAG7k8elDCmIEzq1hYK-O1Xw6sYsk4ZgzdDIB7rsorI5h2Of5EweE5jCrqrtAyyz6to/s400/9D12C0FD-9456-4780-9365-32F79F8277D6.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arran climbing the upper section of the Tourmalet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGp56BlfOzR1LLD33X5rVdhB1LXNUK8jpCJCVQ0Z8UXzS_7wCeAXBNwfPn7D8y4gFvHuET_1S7s_sAdVbw8gHLGpgKRO2HteLZ7eyYXE6UCTEi7mP2YhnYWZ_V6SRHF-csvxCIQivVkIAR/s1600/5E57F091-0126-4143-BB08-7C20B097837C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGp56BlfOzR1LLD33X5rVdhB1LXNUK8jpCJCVQ0Z8UXzS_7wCeAXBNwfPn7D8y4gFvHuET_1S7s_sAdVbw8gHLGpgKRO2HteLZ7eyYXE6UCTEi7mP2YhnYWZ_V6SRHF-csvxCIQivVkIAR/s320/5E57F091-0126-4143-BB08-7C20B097837C.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of the Tourmalet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFs3cNwEoLYjwPNj2jqdgoWho3Vz0ZrjHGzqcs0YQKnVokCHWOvMHqdPjOyqPSr-rRm6EQrou1UVyVTFRQrC47aP4F5BpoD_tia9QTW_u_7un8asQ-Si4bKqQ3aeoeISFLwsYET9qYzM0W/s1600/9D6A21E7-236E-4D20-817B-2AC1B156BDF5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFs3cNwEoLYjwPNj2jqdgoWho3Vz0ZrjHGzqcs0YQKnVokCHWOvMHqdPjOyqPSr-rRm6EQrou1UVyVTFRQrC47aP4F5BpoD_tia9QTW_u_7un8asQ-Si4bKqQ3aeoeISFLwsYET9qYzM0W/s320/9D6A21E7-236E-4D20-817B-2AC1B156BDF5.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tired!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
Day 3</h3>
<br />
The Col d‘Aspin follows breakfast, our first col of the day bagged by 11am - an ascent into lazy cloud lingering at the saddle of peaks that vanish out of sight above us. Speed builds on the descent which winds down the mountain encircling an isolated hillock. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-89i8qLiUPTXlMJuODvAjK25I8djKZzUuj8ZdjnE4dqXs8Htdum0KVA9YcrlNshUEPGt3VnpSzpE8ZDKybleyEv1v_iYiQ0KWrVKUkqJIgod_zRsk9ImtZzluk6xqZ2qu0ESRUD2HgMk/s640/3704A080-204D-4342-942D-925B85888249.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Col d'Aspin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-89i8qLiUPTXlMJuODvAjK25I8djKZzUuj8ZdjnE4dqXs8Htdum0KVA9YcrlNshUEPGt3VnpSzpE8ZDKybleyEv1v_iYiQ0KWrVKUkqJIgod_zRsk9ImtZzluk6xqZ2qu0ESRUD2HgMk/s1600/3704A080-204D-4342-942D-925B85888249.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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It is reminiscent of Sa Calobra in places, testing the limits of my gravel tyres through the corners until we reach the town of Arreau. Its narrow streets are lined with centuries old houses and whilst it is charming we need to press on up the Col de Peyresource. We’re behind schedule and making up distance in the mountains will be hard work today. Skies have cleared at the col and we duck into a smoky wooden hut where lunch is being cooked.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoN2IWn2YNRu1fFewYLZyblM7CebFdCprlZhJFQaxWTgOZKj9VYnaqyEpLCEV5L_4pHqrIOhPbSJ2ADBVcqr_Zk3Gd33l4AiwofxU4T-CEBcpHtbsA9HkVj1VuIwvOfU9zA0jvGSjr2ykR/s1600/6C2B6F1E-614C-412E-B65A-3BF2712BFBD6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoN2IWn2YNRu1fFewYLZyblM7CebFdCprlZhJFQaxWTgOZKj9VYnaqyEpLCEV5L_4pHqrIOhPbSJ2ADBVcqr_Zk3Gd33l4AiwofxU4T-CEBcpHtbsA9HkVj1VuIwvOfU9zA0jvGSjr2ykR/s640/6C2B6F1E-614C-412E-B65A-3BF2712BFBD6.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></div>
Groups of cyclists exchange banter whilst waiting for coffee and food. Monteban-de-Luchon is our next stop at the base of the col, the map suggests that food and water may be scarce from here so we stock up before climbing out of France to the Spanish border. Although this is not a major col temperatures of 30 degrees and the ever changing gradient (spiking at 15%) make it feel like hard work.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5lyWjS1S7Ef4DqKurTfsg_HkYn2Cz8LIxD92AeldiJHZpXPZObAjPSb6I4diMyXRDg3Vx1_36Biol5uDcL-2-ukQlNEFLnGDR0e25DMkDJh694uBgkBS4OaHNpeJv20odCfiFGbS1fIQ7/s1600/6F5A9FF4-90A8-44D7-AEAF-F32075D60D9B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5lyWjS1S7Ef4DqKurTfsg_HkYn2Cz8LIxD92AeldiJHZpXPZObAjPSb6I4diMyXRDg3Vx1_36Biol5uDcL-2-ukQlNEFLnGDR0e25DMkDJh694uBgkBS4OaHNpeJv20odCfiFGbS1fIQ7/s640/6F5A9FF4-90A8-44D7-AEAF-F32075D60D9B.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">near Vielha</td></tr>
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At the next town (Vielha), the first we encounter in Spain, we once more make a beeline for a supermarket where we bump into bikepacker Andis Boltins. We exchange notes about the next leg of our journey which will take us through the Vielha tunnel. Andis has ridden here from Barcelona - the reverse of our route. He reports that he rode straight through the long tunnel without trouble.<br />
Riding off-road towards the tunnel Pyrenean peaks tower over us, I can't even tell where the tunnel starts. The valley we follow appears to end in a steep slope ahead with no sign of the main road. The 8k long Tunel el Vielha is a major landmark on our journey and we aren’t yet absolutely sure that we’ll be allowed to ride through it. My limited research suggested that we should use the service or old tunnel. At the tunnel entrance I use the emergency phone to check it’s ok to ride on. A misunderstanding results in us using the wrong entrance and minutes later a van speeds up behind us to inform us of our mistake. We return down the deserted old tunnel and enter the new three lane tunnel where a lane has ben closed just for us. Signs inform drivers of “cyclists en tunel". Wow, we get our own lane on the long climb through the tunnel!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZpf_qzAS0r1WG6ARmj7EPC__WKsHJmjleOrqFN5ycAid8wubDrChljx7JiYiEWvqeHPoWvjuSJkKImiRYlLS6iiYPRt9GVGRH07XfSn5IYVnk6hW-HGOQQMRUWF4zOqqEQMnf8li1VpJp/s1600/29E25FFE-563C-4442-8320-6649190896DD.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZpf_qzAS0r1WG6ARmj7EPC__WKsHJmjleOrqFN5ycAid8wubDrChljx7JiYiEWvqeHPoWvjuSJkKImiRYlLS6iiYPRt9GVGRH07XfSn5IYVnk6hW-HGOQQMRUWF4zOqqEQMnf8li1VpJp/s640/29E25FFE-563C-4442-8320-6649190896DD.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></div>
The tunnel climbs slowly through the mountain and the sounds are alien, the shrieking hot brakes of lorries in the opposite carriageway, labouring artics crawling past us on their way up to the mouth of the tunnel. Eventually a small white light ahead grows and we exit the tunnel high above a Pyrenean valley. From here we cruise south out of the mountains into a less dramatic landscape, rounded hills replace dislocated limestone peaks, woodland replaces sunburnt mountain pasture.
Unsure of what lies ahead we stop 20k later at the first town we encounter, water and an evening meal are required. The town throngs with people enjoying the cooler early evening air, low sun lights the streets and we seek out an open restaurant. It seems that we are early, drinks are ordered ahead of the kitchen opening at our restaurant. It's a good opportunity to catch up on photo editing whilst legs recuperate. The rest does us good, we decide to tackle one more Col before a bivvy, a climb of 650m by moonlight is an unexpected pleasure and we find a bivvy spot near the road at the base of the descent.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmzQ5lzUPV_ES5Axwi3lh_E87WQOiiXKrtGql9PubKKIdPRu5goRhunu_zUgyzEE3euFU4kEsTtWm9KgC-z0mW0NbFT_W5I8zucLBaCWuHhpS8SxjGij0FMwXn6b9rBl7Nrbkj6GQZNMf/s1600/A21AFCA6-7A03-4016-9BB4-01E63A18DCAB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmzQ5lzUPV_ES5Axwi3lh_E87WQOiiXKrtGql9PubKKIdPRu5goRhunu_zUgyzEE3euFU4kEsTtWm9KgC-z0mW0NbFT_W5I8zucLBaCWuHhpS8SxjGij0FMwXn6b9rBl7Nrbkj6GQZNMf/s640/A21AFCA6-7A03-4016-9BB4-01E63A18DCAB.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">last Col of the day</td></tr>
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We’ve ridden 100 miles today and climbed around 12000 ft - we are getting back on track. The skies are beautifully clear, littered with constellations and I don't want to close my eyes. Unsurprisingly we are both fast asleep in minutes, and 6 am comes around rapidly.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh33tFTgqwl2sxKObdE7tbDuxDfpjaBOC0rgYG5gwJqa4p7psZewmdJE-GKDg_KYuKUs42UegZo-WbhiFAHiQs4d8AJho3_pRcoCe3Op51ezQmQFiAYgePk-_1J3t99binn8fCisrS2YDcW/s1600/C4826C91-261F-497C-9FA6-2D73A59A583F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh33tFTgqwl2sxKObdE7tbDuxDfpjaBOC0rgYG5gwJqa4p7psZewmdJE-GKDg_KYuKUs42UegZo-WbhiFAHiQs4d8AJho3_pRcoCe3Op51ezQmQFiAYgePk-_1J3t99binn8fCisrS2YDcW/s640/C4826C91-261F-497C-9FA6-2D73A59A583F.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bikepacking - not that glamorous</td></tr>
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<h3>
Day 4</h3>
This is crunch day, we are 50km behind schedule if we are to reach Barcelona today and catch our ferry tomorrow. An early start improves optimism but the first town we reach is still closed up at 7.30 am. A strong coffee is ordered and eventually a patisserie opens up so I can buy Arran a large slab of pizza, he's going to need plenty f energy today. It's soon 30°C and water does not last long, quickly transformed to streams of sweat which spatter onto the smooth tarmac.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwyp5MQ_vb86KBP5sXvs4huvXKuQBd-_BPLMcmMdW55JpqS5F5lsTp-50N2i0UEzBP9Nm5AXqprgCfy0hirOTPQvCuwfV3qf-FKI9SAJ0rMaFM_pGu1VlDBBHyEtox7F3BoPtAkWOo4KU/s1600/7467FCA0-9673-4071-89AE-4BD1D73464A5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwyp5MQ_vb86KBP5sXvs4huvXKuQBd-_BPLMcmMdW55JpqS5F5lsTp-50N2i0UEzBP9Nm5AXqprgCfy0hirOTPQvCuwfV3qf-FKI9SAJ0rMaFM_pGu1VlDBBHyEtox7F3BoPtAkWOo4KU/s640/7467FCA0-9673-4071-89AE-4BD1D73464A5.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arran eyes up another hill</td></tr>
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There are a few hills on today’s route but by and large it undulates gently, reminding me of northern Greece. Blinding sun, sweat in my eyes, bleached fields - at least we are heading towards the sea. A three course meal at lunchtime is a good excuse to hide from the heat. Early afternoon is always an ordeal at this latitude, the shops close as temperatures peak and we're left out here grinding our way south. A few more hours and we’ll have won today if I can keep Arran fed though. Unexpectedly we find a shop open at the top of the next climb; half a melon, bread and water seem like a good idea. The melon is shared, its shell scraped clean, and we set off downhill rejuvenated. Urban sprawl replaces fields but it's hours before we get our first glimpse of the Barcelona skyline beyond the suburbs we thread through.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoaIVpG9cbXYooxxpZ1ssM4qZcZN0oTE-V7esnSCfITRC-LvrmZ5U6JT5hp7DaTOxjtGtAitkQAWyKVbzxlupJ_2o3Q9zg9X5Y8ASUnOJiounhwI_9C1XqHk4_i2bP0cue7JfCkzstiify/s1600/F6F042F4-F43B-41A8-8FE5-3C7E432F92A4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoaIVpG9cbXYooxxpZ1ssM4qZcZN0oTE-V7esnSCfITRC-LvrmZ5U6JT5hp7DaTOxjtGtAitkQAWyKVbzxlupJ_2o3Q9zg9X5Y8ASUnOJiounhwI_9C1XqHk4_i2bP0cue7JfCkzstiify/s640/F6F042F4-F43B-41A8-8FE5-3C7E432F92A4.jpeg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">off road into Barcelona</td></tr>
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Nearer the city we divert off road onto a series of gravel tracks running parallel to the railway lines and major roads which also head towards the city centre. The early evening sun lights roads deserted by commuters but once we reach the city centre noise and movement dominate. Bike lanes are everywhere and they throng with bikes, electric scooters, even roller skates. We do our best to tag along behind anyone who's moving fast and knows which lights are ok to run.
Amidst this chaos it suddenly dawns on us - we’ve made it; 430 miles and 30000 ft of climbing over 4 days.<br />
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Pretty impressive at the age of 15.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2AgSnLXDtnTA5fn8SQngEwRBiniHNJIxbXQlIum3oaq_Ws9qM8v6IMIAiCdcYsPnXrWt80sm_G2gjCwJMUvT_V8ZAsz7rQv0n4EmArsaCCuPhbhEicb934OCT83-etDbtZoXVqSAFe6kF/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-08-15+at+19.48.18.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="1047" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2AgSnLXDtnTA5fn8SQngEwRBiniHNJIxbXQlIum3oaq_Ws9qM8v6IMIAiCdcYsPnXrWt80sm_G2gjCwJMUvT_V8ZAsz7rQv0n4EmArsaCCuPhbhEicb934OCT83-etDbtZoXVqSAFe6kF/s640/Screen+Shot+2019-08-15+at+19.48.18.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 1</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3FzlKFcSU1dVI1A2tGDURNkuXSA8yTpCye-1tv-e9ABjTXczTDYVjCVGdsXC6_Z04iGqZaPYAKP3DvwJpHSQ0DuRnx5rCYkVfVn1-0HoLbx9yyX441sR-M1ZiVrHhEdKSHAQgQjIK5nJ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-08-15+at+19.48.41.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="1049" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3FzlKFcSU1dVI1A2tGDURNkuXSA8yTpCye-1tv-e9ABjTXczTDYVjCVGdsXC6_Z04iGqZaPYAKP3DvwJpHSQ0DuRnx5rCYkVfVn1-0HoLbx9yyX441sR-M1ZiVrHhEdKSHAQgQjIK5nJ/s640/Screen+Shot+2019-08-15+at+19.48.41.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 2</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpCTfLA9lO0mRgDAz4basurkqvBFE4V3SCgBcRwyalt2TYsri0Rg2q6yM5RP-TALvlLlYZPEdLv1QeO73nXPSe9sqTlHMC_KDEwGA-375ayhKjVG3rTAlaEkmSjrcQ4CZnZE1KNKpu48z/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-08-15+at+19.49.02.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="1048" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpCTfLA9lO0mRgDAz4basurkqvBFE4V3SCgBcRwyalt2TYsri0Rg2q6yM5RP-TALvlLlYZPEdLv1QeO73nXPSe9sqTlHMC_KDEwGA-375ayhKjVG3rTAlaEkmSjrcQ4CZnZE1KNKpu48z/s640/Screen+Shot+2019-08-15+at+19.49.02.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeeNxEtjD98Md5O5zIq3mxkiQi_LvvW7DWu53GS6aOFsHvC6HQ7qid-M_0W8GeJFmCT-9AtGHbxNJ8M5pxx7_VLQIJdTAakNtR0jlEK4pAq0b-SOZFiPMeCjlIRFgHfL9UOOz-vwFw9nMW/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-08-15+at+19.49.31.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="1048" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeeNxEtjD98Md5O5zIq3mxkiQi_LvvW7DWu53GS6aOFsHvC6HQ7qid-M_0W8GeJFmCT-9AtGHbxNJ8M5pxx7_VLQIJdTAakNtR0jlEK4pAq0b-SOZFiPMeCjlIRFgHfL9UOOz-vwFw9nMW/s640/Screen+Shot+2019-08-15+at+19.49.31.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 4</td></tr>
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<br />Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-22291373131001951432019-08-14T10:01:00.004-07:002019-08-15T10:10:36.224-07:00An Overgrown Hill<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
Did you ever ride up a really tough climb? You know the one, where you were hanging over your bars chewing tape watching your front wheel come to a near standstill at the top of every crank stroke. Meanwhile you felt like you were drowning due to the amount of sweat in your eyes and the lack of oxygen reaching your lungs (is this a bit like waterboarding?).
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Yep, you don’t forget those ones so easily. In my case it was the last time I climbed Hardknott Pass in the Lake District, 90 miles into the Fred Whitton Challenge. I remember my head hanging over the bars, mouth wide open gasping for air whilst my legs burned, occasionally glancing upwards to the top of the pass to be reminded that I was nowhere near. I wasn’t moving much faster that those who attempted to walk up pushing their bikes, road cleats skating south with every step.
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That memory was not going to fade for decades and whenever Hardknott came up in conversation I had no hesitation in saying “done it once, never again!”. Is that fear? It festered, I don’t like to fear.
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The Fred Whitton memory mutated, the hill became Alpine in dimensions, it had taken hours to climb, there was no way I could ride it again.
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With time though I realised that it wasn’t that I’d had a bad time climbing it, it was just hard. And hard isn’t bad, it’s good.
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It’s going to hurt, isn’t it. </div>
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I plan the ride.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii1i1Pv5Hf8wKP9UwKwTCBczk6xxuFrepr3J84nYgxqBEG8IS4plj08jjbvN0y6JeP5GlNSlE_CSj7odvZ75KP34hhNXCV-XNsi7LsVhfPrSdfe63xe7uMmlQjLL9CcxgNBNbPdh6La9eL/s1600/A25B2434-1522-4BB9-A57B-ED61758FDB9F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii1i1Pv5Hf8wKP9UwKwTCBczk6xxuFrepr3J84nYgxqBEG8IS4plj08jjbvN0y6JeP5GlNSlE_CSj7odvZ75KP34hhNXCV-XNsi7LsVhfPrSdfe63xe7uMmlQjLL9CcxgNBNbPdh6La9eL/s200/A25B2434-1522-4BB9-A57B-ED61758FDB9F.jpeg" width="200" /></a>This time I decide to pad out the excitement of ‘that climb’ with a 100 mile ride in, and a 100 mile back making the challenge to ride it without going so hard that I’m unable to get home. A good forecast, a Thursday off work and a new 931 steel frame to test warrants a 4.30AM alarm. Quiet roads weave between meadows of freshly cut hay out through the Trough of Bowland. I’m delayed by sheep moving fields near Lancaster and then I skirt Morecambe Bay to reach the eastern Lakes, the air now thick with cut grass and new bracken growth. Through Broughton in Furness to a 25% climb over Birks Fell and I’m on with it. There’s a group of junior school kids walking up the road at the bottom of Hardknott. One boy looks at me with a confused expression, the teacher reminds me that the worst is further up, despite this section's 33% rippled tarmac hairpins. But, I’m talking, and I’m still seated. The lower gear on this bike has transformed this from an ordeal to a steep climb with fantastic views. Straight over the top, overtake a motorbike on the descent and I’m buzzing.</div>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-85500882891343983782019-05-10T08:51:00.003-07:002019-05-10T08:55:06.901-07:00Italy Divide: Part 2<h3 style="-en-clipboard: true;">
Day 3
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My 0430 alarm finds me in a cave. I make the usual double take ("Why am I in a cave", "WHAT AM I DOING?") before wriggling from my bivvy and repacking my bike. I can smell fresh croissants baking as I ride through cobbled streets in the next town, it's so tempting to stop but I need to keep moving through this rolling farmland towards the Strada Bianchi.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwi4sQsPAVKwd4dlGgU7mXKXOHLDYg5po5Nf5lzYOk8scN5yE3D9y-HH3Tyn9N8sUHyoGCVcWLqbGX4lC6NISnritm6outNvIhHGAv6BjHrcZGIplJqTp_Y_2VZ0C4S4goeLnHhXpmMT2U/s1600/IMG_6769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwi4sQsPAVKwd4dlGgU7mXKXOHLDYg5po5Nf5lzYOk8scN5yE3D9y-HH3Tyn9N8sUHyoGCVcWLqbGX4lC6NISnritm6outNvIhHGAv6BjHrcZGIplJqTp_Y_2VZ0C4S4goeLnHhXpmMT2U/s400/IMG_6769.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">early morning </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhka9pV7nPFP7dMxup6OxEg99X6EhFYkugPb0DdF17dOwgJNapewSlafvNjQeKeZttoyyIcK0IY4azgExIxU4eybeLcRG3gFkxI_3PDslBNydYDIc82mDcurZIeX0EW9HsE2N77zNGvXe-o/s1600/IMG_6772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhka9pV7nPFP7dMxup6OxEg99X6EhFYkugPb0DdF17dOwgJNapewSlafvNjQeKeZttoyyIcK0IY4azgExIxU4eybeLcRG3gFkxI_3PDslBNydYDIc82mDcurZIeX0EW9HsE2N77zNGvXe-o/s400/IMG_6772.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1st hill of the day</td></tr>
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The white roads start with a long gravel climb to the fortified village of Radicofani (880m). I enjoy this climb, visitors encourage my efforts up through winding cobbled streets with shouts of ‘forza!’ and I'm able to pass several other riders on the way up. I’m now entering a Tuscany that I recognise from Sunday supplement magazines. I trace a poplar lined bleached gravel ribbon winding between lush meadows up and around domed hill tops. Hillside pastures peppered with yellow flowers coming into bloom. Fortress villages reign over the valleys, standing watch over fertile farmland and ancient ways below. Late in the afternoon the low light reveals the unique beauty of this landscape. Tall swaying grass under a deep blue sky contrast with the pale limestone tracks winding toward the horizon. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRA5BQGsRfEDsSQIeAOCYZE9OCcJz8A05A0jw-fMjIQs_LZTCtvSavDJTR8QTSj8TmN5VRC_L7XlUCIdvauoDK8L3RWW_QVbmL8UvKm5sg8x_mSYeEB1PhyphenhypheniqHRFoWxbuoSXHqEp87jzk/s1600/IMG_6779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRA5BQGsRfEDsSQIeAOCYZE9OCcJz8A05A0jw-fMjIQs_LZTCtvSavDJTR8QTSj8TmN5VRC_L7XlUCIdvauoDK8L3RWW_QVbmL8UvKm5sg8x_mSYeEB1PhyphenhypheniqHRFoWxbuoSXHqEp87jzk/s400/IMG_6779.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">route checking</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG2-C1U2ej4PLAruYWMMqpw7PJ7m8wtLhr02BUclGH4Z2ibozqmNEFva-WLE8EREXo6QnVDAb-9oildqMJTYUZfB4k1tEjh0oFRvJ1ImiYGv7FOqciTr_M4m1gIXIl1ie6hYeqKFQ8oPfz/s1600/IMG_6785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG2-C1U2ej4PLAruYWMMqpw7PJ7m8wtLhr02BUclGH4Z2ibozqmNEFva-WLE8EREXo6QnVDAb-9oildqMJTYUZfB4k1tEjh0oFRvJ1ImiYGv7FOqciTr_M4m1gIXIl1ie6hYeqKFQ8oPfz/s400/IMG_6785.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">typical Tuscany</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfLa3mI6nBCtGIrgqGlnU_HKUAxs8IC2ce8YsbilWPxxtPxNwBsBU9yVmVhHd__dLRROsLoQHJ8NG_0z_B2VIzgw8Rze-mJrZkGssmSGoKshxIho4ZaGxLtyxopsaSVw7IvLdyIfM8_5s/s1600/IMG_6786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfLa3mI6nBCtGIrgqGlnU_HKUAxs8IC2ce8YsbilWPxxtPxNwBsBU9yVmVhHd__dLRROsLoQHJ8NG_0z_B2VIzgw8Rze-mJrZkGssmSGoKshxIho4ZaGxLtyxopsaSVw7IvLdyIfM8_5s/s400/IMG_6786.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strada Bianchi</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2BPu-ZLqipAlezZmwSx5rw2ov4VII3gGVTv_R5aXgM6N0FgihFCXgUl0eYR6UL3w6GD0ABo_5d71F1u4elzRJBYechn8F2HuxMxX2E2TIkGJcMvFpgfeY1dBMI9oqPgE34rtvdL9MLjG/s1600/IMG_6789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2BPu-ZLqipAlezZmwSx5rw2ov4VII3gGVTv_R5aXgM6N0FgihFCXgUl0eYR6UL3w6GD0ABo_5d71F1u4elzRJBYechn8F2HuxMxX2E2TIkGJcMvFpgfeY1dBMI9oqPgE34rtvdL9MLjG/s400/IMG_6789.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fortified village</td></tr>
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This rural idyll is not fully appreciated until I'm descending into Siena. The 20% climbs of the Strada Bianchi are relentless and I sympathise with the l’Eroica riders who annually grind their way through this landscape without the benefit of 22 gears.
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I realise here that I’ve made a mistake. I have emptied the backup battery that powers my navigation iPhone by charging my spare light. It will be dark in a couple of hours and I’m not moving quickly enough to recharge the battery or run the phone. For now I minimise the phone screen to save power and keep the rider ahead of me in view. Siena is stunning, the route leads me into the old town through a towering gatehouse which leads to narrow cobbled streets flanked by centuries old buildings. Eventually this opens out into a enormous square; the Piazza del Campo, around which bars and restaurants bustle with tourists.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSo2gZY0H2KbMYry7CwfnfU-utKP9zUxqDNsYNFvMWuoW_3Ilzi_wQgP9BZ5NDZ13yBkHrKdkITx3eFKEpLPOz0PKKSZ3hOxwAEv_A74HOU-G_E1ZarJvgb-aeTgmFRpAsxVbpG0S03i7z/s1600/IMG_6810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSo2gZY0H2KbMYry7CwfnfU-utKP9zUxqDNsYNFvMWuoW_3Ilzi_wQgP9BZ5NDZ13yBkHrKdkITx3eFKEpLPOz0PKKSZ3hOxwAEv_A74HOU-G_E1ZarJvgb-aeTgmFRpAsxVbpG0S03i7z/s400/IMG_6810.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siena</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAImggK9pfR3B6adVdHeDPDYUrgTcxK3mml1hEahFLazCPrmk_ljTkzjEHlCDJcXt-YTK2xDVGtbxGheJ56mQoVDel-Dd_x6f9Ilqk0gLTOuItuVoSm5OD3pTMeGoxmCLQwt6IL-ZHYOZQ/s1600/IMG_6807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAImggK9pfR3B6adVdHeDPDYUrgTcxK3mml1hEahFLazCPrmk_ljTkzjEHlCDJcXt-YTK2xDVGtbxGheJ56mQoVDel-Dd_x6f9Ilqk0gLTOuItuVoSm5OD3pTMeGoxmCLQwt6IL-ZHYOZQ/s400/IMG_6807.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piazza del Campo</td></tr>
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I take the opportunity to buy enough food to see me past Florence, I know the next section is remote in places. I book a B & B for the night as I need to recharge the backup battery and get a proper wash after two nights under the stars. Sadly although my booking is accepted the B & B owner is absent and I waste two hours messaging him from outside the B & B. I wind up riding out of town at midnight and bivvying in an olive grove.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Stats: 146 miles 16000 feet
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<h3>
Day 4</h3>
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6AM! Aargh, I slept in! I make up for it by reclaiming a few places on the first big climb of the day up Poggio Querciabella. Of course there are more steep climbs on the other side of this col and it’s only on arriving in the centre of Firenze (Florence) that there’s any respite. The architecture here is amazing and it's a pity that my visit is fleeting.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGGXV6ZbDT-i9rC_IULF6rnQI01dl-9eskOf31wC0ZBmo7-dajiK7YrN0mpWjCb91dVe7X7ozme4oySmqTMh6iBiaIgbVo2g7eCOEvdfF8th6nSgsSa0GOyVgwBw8hlO0IhAUGEa39_Ar/s1600/IMG_6824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="1600" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGGXV6ZbDT-i9rC_IULF6rnQI01dl-9eskOf31wC0ZBmo7-dajiK7YrN0mpWjCb91dVe7X7ozme4oySmqTMh6iBiaIgbVo2g7eCOEvdfF8th6nSgsSa0GOyVgwBw8hlO0IhAUGEa39_Ar/s640/IMG_6824.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Florence</td></tr>
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After getting told off by the Carabinieri for riding through a pedestrianised area I point my front wheel at the hills once again. The woods shelter me from the light rain that has started, broad leaves protecting me from the thunder storm that is kicking off above me. Emerging into the storm by radio masts at the summit of Poggio Capane, hikers in heavy duty ponchos rush past in the opposite direction seeking shelter. On the ridge the wind chills exposed skin and heavy rain is accompanied by regular bolts of lightning which are getting closer with every strike. I quickly don a waterproof and attempt to get moving again, except I can’t get any grip on the sodden clay. My worn back tyre spins hopelessly and I’m forced to push. Petr Novak passes me on a mountain bike with chunky tyres, I only get past him later by taking riskier lines on the descents along the ridge. The rain is soaking through my clothes and I’m getting chilled. A part built house offers a veranda where I stop and put more layers on. The ridge way I am following is the ancient Via Degli Dei but the gnarly winding path displays little of the Roman engineering prowess that I've seen elsewhere in Italy. </div>
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The eventual descent to the valley is frequently unrideable due to deep mud and a deeply rutted path. I’m relieved to arrive at a cafe which is buzzing with racers exchanging tales of extreme conditions. I’m surprised to find Mitch Jones and Scott Cornish here, I thought they were miles ahead but I forget that I'm not the only one struggling in difficult conditions. </div>
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Dusk is nearing and I’m keen to reach Bologna tonight. It’s only 60k but who knows how long that could take, I roll on.</div>
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It’s tough, first a climb up through a special kind of clay that blocks wheels within 5 revolutions and renders your bike so heavy you can no longer lift it. It’s so sticky you could build sky scrapers with it! Which is of no comfort to me as I look for another stick to scrape my wheels with. A couple of hikers pass in the opposite direction asking how far to the village I’ve just come from. They’re eager to reach civilisation before nightfall, an unwelcome reminder that it’s going to get dark and cold before I sleep tonight. Petr catches me in the woods and we ride, shove and carry in company for the next couple of hours. The rock steps are a particular challenge after sixteen hours of racing today but there’s no turning back, it’s just ‘to do’ if we’re to remain in contention. The hike-a-bike continues for hours, in places the deep mud forces portage downhill. Meanwhile a bitterly cold northerly wind chills sodden feet and exposed skin, I’m reluctant to climb skywards once more for the next section through the woods. It's midnight and climbing up to 1200m seems like a bad idea, however a weather check shows rain from 5am the next morning, I need to be through here before it arrives so once more I push on north.
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By 2.30am I’m sure I’m getting close to Bologna and the landscape is now gentler, I’ll bivvy soon, just a few more miles. Some mud, some gravel, more mud, more gravel and SNAP!! No drive, the cranks won’t move. A quick look down reveals my rear mech swinging on the chain, the mech hanger has snapped. Not ideal, but I have a spare - if I can just remove the broken one, which proves impossible - the tiny screw securing it has bent and won't move more than quarter of a turn. Hunched over the bike frame I push hard on the screw but the screw head eventually starts to round off and the tool slips. It won't come out. I remove the rear derailleur, shorten the chain and set the bike up single speed before getting in to my bivvy bag only to shiver and doze for three hours. Rain wakes me, water is my enemy when it’s this cold. Hurried packing in the grey half light, and the deflating discovery that the single speed ratio I’ve gone for is not going to work. I use all four spare split links discovering that the cassette and chainring combo I’m running are incompatible with my usual single speed hack. The chain eventually wedges itself deep into the middle of the cassette, forcing the teeth apart so I can no longer turn the cranks.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjal4-l97qzXYyF_ZSUpTOFv9Am_ZdqHgCv7kUuvQdCVFASi3OKZnIAVhzvtd8ndBE3Lhh5YxYvkMeZPf-1tdp_x2sWqqH11Wt4OVProxugs1PDlNfinkquIdJgxdEy-yH3o7ZYwuM00w19/s1600/IMG_6829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjal4-l97qzXYyF_ZSUpTOFv9Am_ZdqHgCv7kUuvQdCVFASi3OKZnIAVhzvtd8ndBE3Lhh5YxYvkMeZPf-1tdp_x2sWqqH11Wt4OVProxugs1PDlNfinkquIdJgxdEy-yH3o7ZYwuM00w19/s320/IMG_6829.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="240" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdqe8gpI4G-0JOKrCQUwLer02labs638JHDJAEvRdscOFmDEYRbPZ5Uf56Bfe-UOw6hlx9nObePsAt8mWoKkPU8WsNj4x5q6Oo_ixyd6roFx2RF1Er74k-r5WOuPdFvUZOraWU7R0tU5a/s1600/IMG_6832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdqe8gpI4G-0JOKrCQUwLer02labs638JHDJAEvRdscOFmDEYRbPZ5Uf56Bfe-UOw6hlx9nObePsAt8mWoKkPU8WsNj4x5q6Oo_ixyd6roFx2RF1Er74k-r5WOuPdFvUZOraWU7R0tU5a/s320/IMG_6832.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="320" /></a><br />
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I don't have an answer for this, I'm miles from a bike shop and in my current semi-hyperthermic state I crave warmth above all else.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglWmv1bqRkoD7WlDjBF6mtIIs0LJhz4ffv76Yk4eRJael_MazayaySwNhmMeh9uNX5Rj3hzrD719caYkxDYrQdaOe0SarSNChkZP_1Ork5Ban7gALcJz8qD-dWs7jL1fcs_r0KAnaFH7ZV/s1600/IMG_6838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglWmv1bqRkoD7WlDjBF6mtIIs0LJhz4ffv76Yk4eRJael_MazayaySwNhmMeh9uNX5Rj3hzrD719caYkxDYrQdaOe0SarSNChkZP_1Ork5Ban7gALcJz8qD-dWs7jL1fcs_r0KAnaFH7ZV/s200/IMG_6838.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">corpses have prettier feet</td></tr>
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I scratch, I’m out of the race. There’s no bike shop within walking distance and anyway, having already written off one identical frame with a stuck mech hanger screw I’m reluctant to let anyone have a go at this one. I will sort it in my workshop back home.
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The next twelve hours are spent defrosting aboard trains and buses on my way north to the finish at Torbole. Outside Rovereto station I scrape and poke as much mud from my bike as I can before smiling nicely at the bus driver in a bid to be allowed on the bus to Lake Garda.</div>
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I arrive in Torbole to see joint winners James Hayden and Sofiane Sehili roll in together in a refreshing display of humility and self-awareness. After all who do we actually race? Is it really the riders ahead of us? Or is it our other selves? The self that won’t leave our comfort zone, the self that fears the new and unfamiliar, the self that fears ‘the other’. Aren’t we all just striving to be the best version of ourselves out here, pushing beyond what we know to be possible? That’s not just about pushing physically, it’s about finding new truths in the mental environment that we find ourselves in when endurance starts to bite. </div>
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Respect to those who acknowledge the humanity and suffering of their fellow racers, self-supported bike racing is by and large free of egos and long may that continue.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZHXsOTDzesuAJoLsCI3svzAetRTHK0ENkG0cJT48vLnwOr1kqPza5z-qlRPY0VVZF5HnWcwTyBXmtZhTfFHaHWta-Jp9p70Vb_8pUz5STH9BOupoNIIMjqHF_WQOXF0KpzQiOr40-MrP/s1600/IMG_6846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZHXsOTDzesuAJoLsCI3svzAetRTHK0ENkG0cJT48vLnwOr1kqPza5z-qlRPY0VVZF5HnWcwTyBXmtZhTfFHaHWta-Jp9p70Vb_8pUz5STH9BOupoNIIMjqHF_WQOXF0KpzQiOr40-MrP/s640/IMG_6846.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">winners James Hayden and Sofiane Sehili with race organiser Giacomo Bianchi</td></tr>
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<h3>
Gear</h3>
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<ul>
<li>Cannondale Slate converted to rigid Whiskey fork</li>
<li>Apidura bags</li>
<li>Klite lights and USB charging</li>
<li>52/36 - 11/34 drivetrain</li>
<li>40mm Schwalbe G-Ones (unsuitable for wet clay!)</li>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-34728664983315334822019-05-07T10:12:00.001-07:002019-05-07T10:21:52.059-07:00Italy Divide: Part 1<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
A red and grey 737 rises from the early morning mist at Leeds-Bradford Airport carrying the apprehension and dreams of three Italy Divide virgins. After all, the prospect of racing 1200 km of what could optimistically be described as ‘lumpy’ terrain up the backbone of Italy is enough to make even the most seasoned of racers a little nervous.
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Cruising at 37000 ft over banks of cloud, my thoughts drifted and I saw familiar landscapes in the contours of the cloud below. Stanage Edge towering over the western Alps, Kinder lying over French shores. Meanwhile my imagination conjured up scenes from a route so far only glimpsed as a coloured line on a screen, snaking north though the heart of Italy.</div>
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Waiting in line the next morning under a dark Napolese archway, we‘re all trying to ignore the stench of stale urine at the chaotic bag drop. It’s nowhere near as chaotic as the Napolese traffic though. Roundabouts are a whirlpool of cars, cabs and scooters. Jumping in looks like a bad idea but Mitch, Virginia and myself all need to get across town. Once<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> immersed in the maelstrom, my senses are overloaded, a cacophany of horns, revving engines and music from open car windows. I vie with scooters to make it through unlikely looking gaps. It’s like going back to my motorbike despatch riding days but unlike UK traffic, nobody is harbouring a grudge and everyone seems to have 360 degree vision, give a little, take a little, easy. </span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6xNE2Zp5n93tPq3tw8AyYdOhD7xVG_UF641d8HbuWwiGyyY-IvX_9wOV_IfLrxwLCw64GlZXiIgQwCJRnOkb8cNxV455U3fWfWsyXRZ3TYw9g3jSlmG9jcMRuNst2qV2Ynjtktr_pjg6Z/s1600/IMG_6712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6xNE2Zp5n93tPq3tw8AyYdOhD7xVG_UF641d8HbuWwiGyyY-IvX_9wOV_IfLrxwLCw64GlZXiIgQwCJRnOkb8cNxV455U3fWfWsyXRZ3TYw9g3jSlmG9jcMRuNst2qV2Ynjtktr_pjg6Z/s200/IMG_6712.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpA3c6hdNUJ6QF5WUz0MIAg6qws5BUUTEUlH0NkySR3LpvDd5uSWeZx-tDooVdvlvv3A0dWYmb1Dpm140lybo94Abv5w9p-zoasj9aHyd-hles-_haB9xh-WsWcAAKbeZUOqzKTA05zkG/s1600/IMG_6719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpA3c6hdNUJ6QF5WUz0MIAg6qws5BUUTEUlH0NkySR3LpvDd5uSWeZx-tDooVdvlvv3A0dWYmb1Dpm140lybo94Abv5w9p-zoasj9aHyd-hles-_haB9xh-WsWcAAKbeZUOqzKTA05zkG/s200/IMG_6719.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a></div>
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<h3>
Day 1
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPr603L71R3i1y2EJGNo2eH9eOBIYy5raaNYYQFtWQFU2_wh76lDlCcN5UhAGhFxmzMSDUb66-bkMRhTMNuMIEZ7-nXpZWSzL9Zm82wHhcEdMGH0fRzuLhbTWVHy1enYK0Mpa6uegLfuJ/s1600/IMG_6724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPr603L71R3i1y2EJGNo2eH9eOBIYy5raaNYYQFtWQFU2_wh76lDlCcN5UhAGhFxmzMSDUb66-bkMRhTMNuMIEZ7-nXpZWSzL9Zm82wHhcEdMGH0fRzuLhbTWVHy1enYK0Mpa6uegLfuJ/s200/IMG_6724.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a><br />
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2pm and we're relieved to finally be setting off on our Italian odyssey. Once clear of the city centre the pace picks up and packs of riders power their laden machines north through its industrial hinterland. I giggle to myself as I pass a sign for a ‘Sexy Disco’, that must be quite the place to be on a Friday night. The pace is good and 40k is done in no time, I drop on to my aero bars as we near the coast again, lapping up the heavy scent of rapeseed from the fields we pass.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">As dusk falls I divert from the main road onto an ancient Roman road, the huge granite setts make slow progress but at least I’m heading in the right direction - apparently all roads lead to Rome. At 10pm I reach the first</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> hike-a-bike section, 3km takes more than an hour of clambering round bushes and scrabbling for a footing on slippery limestone. All the while I can see cars cruising along a perfectly good road 200m away at the base of the hill. It seems a little early for a #bemoremike section. By 0015 I’m ready for some sleep, I fall asleep to a</span> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">chorus of cicadas and dogs barking.</span>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Stats: 128 miles 6700 ft
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<h3>
Day 2
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuB2bu775MBFJ0TV3brkUqqOB0esEse8KyQ3wjI-ieWIiKzleCqwoyWYG8jQC5wAj0WB103mUewNx7w_fdlYd67M4OJK_aIvHh14b3uSWP8x5qyE8UBR1PfXH5oII83v4F-o4wbz25Lkae/s1600/IMG_6730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuB2bu775MBFJ0TV3brkUqqOB0esEse8KyQ3wjI-ieWIiKzleCqwoyWYG8jQC5wAj0WB103mUewNx7w_fdlYd67M4OJK_aIvHh14b3uSWP8x5qyE8UBR1PfXH5oII83v4F-o4wbz25Lkae/s200/IMG_6730.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a>0430, the day starts with a natty little 25% climb up through a hill top abbey. This won't be the last time I engage my granny gear.
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The track dives back down to the valley but I find the riverside path blocked by a belligerent farmer. It’s a little early for this kind of nonsense, sliding down a 3m slope into a ditch to scrabble back up the other side dragging my bike. Other r<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">acers emerge from their slumbers under bushes and behind walls as I pass. We’re all finding our rhythm on this adventure.</span>
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I cruise past fishing ponds amidst meadows of buttercups spotting bike-packing veteran Mike Sheldrake as I navigate a particularly vague section of trail.
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Three old fellas look on with amusement as I refill my hip pack, wash, and insert contact lenses at a water fountain in the square of the next town. I explain that I am riding from ‘Napoli per Lago di Garda’ which amuses them. </div>
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I’m keen to reach Rome within 24 hours of the start so I’m soon chewing bar tape once again on a steep climb in the woods north of the last town. Fortunately the trails around Lago Albano make up for the climbs with some grin inducing bermed single track.
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I can sense Rome is close and drop onto my aero bars for a slightly wobbly 30mph along a cobbled road which leads to the Via Appia, 20 km of straight as a die Roman Road to the centre of Rome. I could have stepped back in time 1000 years <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">as I cruise down the tree lined avenue towards the centre of Rome.</span> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Weather beaten Roman buildings sit to each side of the avenue, eroded as they are, the engineering within their design is impressive. Meter cubed quoins connect multiple courses of faded weather beaten brick.</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEger_MgwY0s_H40Ko9RzC3Vye2eJeumefWrGm_n_NKMTYrDstgEgsLOavMOk-aK-5zakqXRWQ_ntNF2Rv0WtK9viWJCnJ7JyiD_tb_5RXfOuqMNyPf-YkG-mJJTrAq5MoVyEmLMaMxmZLfE/s1600/IMG_6736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEger_MgwY0s_H40Ko9RzC3Vye2eJeumefWrGm_n_NKMTYrDstgEgsLOavMOk-aK-5zakqXRWQ_ntNF2Rv0WtK9viWJCnJ7JyiD_tb_5RXfOuqMNyPf-YkG-mJJTrAq5MoVyEmLMaMxmZLfE/s200/IMG_6736.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiscG55RaQP5WVKM_HOtTbUo48oChljRJJ4NhMXWm9kyttiRQADWm485R0n4f37wIKjLbvlTuKAax7_FLrCtdlf4X5JqjaFNbUoshDIYkKB3x-bOxgMqfAZBte9SwP-HDEmJ-naEjWmDqUF/s1600/IMG_6744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiscG55RaQP5WVKM_HOtTbUo48oChljRJJ4NhMXWm9kyttiRQADWm485R0n4f37wIKjLbvlTuKAax7_FLrCtdlf4X5JqjaFNbUoshDIYkKB3x-bOxgMqfAZBte9SwP-HDEmJ-naEjWmDqUF/s200/IMG_6744.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Up a short rise and</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> I'm suddenly in the centre of Rome facing the colosseum, </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I’m in a scene from a post card! I share a meal with Stu Taylor and a couple of French guys whilst rain falls outside. </span>Stu buys a poncho from a street vendor, it comes in handy as the afternoon is wet. Riding on I reach the first long 20% ramps of the event. Seemingly it was unnecessary to go round the hills in this area, the roads go straight up and over regardless of gradient. 250m of pain to face down. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ9vkWsOk2RObyskKYWTwX-rn1yxz8-IVUiVH_Insl8H-QOVpEZjYw4vQCisQOMwx77PPYRO1govr5FnvqHK609Qngn-rT6b2_cvN4wcXZ9xX0K10tw8_5YzbQPPjgbf0e1gwmaQX3r2mX/s1600/IMG_6753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ9vkWsOk2RObyskKYWTwX-rn1yxz8-IVUiVH_Insl8H-QOVpEZjYw4vQCisQOMwx77PPYRO1govr5FnvqHK609Qngn-rT6b2_cvN4wcXZ9xX0K10tw8_5YzbQPPjgbf0e1gwmaQX3r2mX/s320/IMG_6753.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXWoDgwW_IjK4GZiojGL7Mjlw0d-DZ9Fo2hDJBBzR-o_6gCSXtdc1mtdW7k7rh50zjnQ_Dij375b6JOgAa9GkcBRy_Yb9A5rmZrgxVgWKDHNHjtqUIO4pDkDUpHNYpKQlq2HEFdNUKajB/s1600/IMG_6758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXWoDgwW_IjK4GZiojGL7Mjlw0d-DZ9Fo2hDJBBzR-o_6gCSXtdc1mtdW7k7rh50zjnQ_Dij375b6JOgAa9GkcBRy_Yb9A5rmZrgxVgWKDHNHjtqUIO4pDkDUpHNYpKQlq2HEFdNUKajB/s320/IMG_6758.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sunset</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDs4fWOjHcQ1MIYbWnt446VevEooaxoBe9BOcablBHisgsd_CKn_PzgHbuMIFFQ-PCVL5eBZbT6ALxYOoSXCWOeczSs12a1OPSmcVrtBQtHejZBHfexUXtJVShQNuyXEAAVK0Blro1lKe/s1600/IMG_6750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDs4fWOjHcQ1MIYbWnt446VevEooaxoBe9BOcablBHisgsd_CKn_PzgHbuMIFFQ-PCVL5eBZbT6ALxYOoSXCWOeczSs12a1OPSmcVrtBQtHejZBHfexUXtJVShQNuyXEAAVK0Blro1lKe/s320/IMG_6750.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1SPMz2r7TrTZzDEEsupSrHDIZBnm5qPwu_IRzS2e7R-eQGoD2bPCGdVdZpWHCtNTt-6S-DMOhe7RHXd9OiccWkogRk5OyH-lNmVmuXrlwhP4821dl0swF8dP7e-kB1qsGWlqrSEZ_IAG/s1600/IMG_6760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1SPMz2r7TrTZzDEEsupSrHDIZBnm5qPwu_IRzS2e7R-eQGoD2bPCGdVdZpWHCtNTt-6S-DMOhe7RHXd9OiccWkogRk5OyH-lNmVmuXrlwhP4821dl0swF8dP7e-kB1qsGWlqrSEZ_IAG/s200/IMG_6760.JPG" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a>The Italy Divide route is split into 17 GPX files and I will soon be nearing the end of this one, there’s 5k to go, I’m sure that I'll be done in no time on these fast gravel roads. Twilight draws the curtains on a beautiful sunset as I am still ankle deep in mud somewhere deep inside a dense woodland. I wrestle my loaded bike through fallen trees and over a small river all the while wondering what I’ve got into. More than an hour has elapsed by the time I emerge hungry and thirsty into the dewy starlit night.
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That night I find a cave for my bivvy by the roadside, it's dry and sheltered; sleep beckons.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Stats:130 miles, 11000 ft </span></div>
Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-67664467946988763752018-11-21T09:19:00.002-08:002018-11-21T10:10:59.581-08:00TCRNo6 part 5: The Wild West is Due South<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
I return to the CP4 hotel just in time to order food, exchange stories from the road, and get my head down for a few hours. At 2.30am <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I hear a door closing in the corridor and the sound of a freewheel. I’ll catch them I think to myself, but I really need to pull my finger out now and press on for the finish, there is a race to be had. I manage a banana and some left over pizza for my 3.30am breakfast and get on the road for Albania. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dawn in Bosnia</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">My sense of direction is confused at this early hour, I blindly follow the map on my iPhone along narrow lanes through hamlets reminiscent of the English Lake District. A mountain pass drops down between dark limestone cliffs into a winding gorge, wispy clouds hang between the jaws of the ravine as the weak sun stuggles to shine through dawn fog. Back in June when I was route planning I was under the impression that this road was deserted but I pass several villages with small shops and the sight of a bakery stops me dead, I need pastries. I order a good sized quantity of feta pie (sold by weight), it’s good riding food - sioux pastry and feta, loads of fat and salt. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">By 9am I’m at the border to Montenegro, it’s midway along a popular rafting canyon and I enter Montenegro dodging missing planks on a rickety wooden bridge. The limestone gorge that follows is utterly spectacular, I wasn’t expecting this scenery today, days of sleep deprivation and thousands of kilometers in my legs are more than repaid by the views here, this is awesome. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFO8qUuY8w35YzcY0JjkOkq62O40NfceiTU4CMRA3S8eeJ_bmJMteokV5QgleyDdTBlonpJR711kGOYD8xfMrx0TAuKL2217RUCs0TASxHcVXmsQ1PP858vwN7BZ1jqUECw0aduqekJro/s1600/IMG_4191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFO8qUuY8w35YzcY0JjkOkq62O40NfceiTU4CMRA3S8eeJ_bmJMteokV5QgleyDdTBlonpJR711kGOYD8xfMrx0TAuKL2217RUCs0TASxHcVXmsQ1PP858vwN7BZ1jqUECw0aduqekJro/s320/IMG_4191.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7Lt3hT2ShoM30saWoJALiYbj4Btk5MfH6Hhqw71R2B-tm-E53Kf1An-SolTFh9GNrBtHmze5CPvy2vKFnGJHpahh2ffLd7DZ2bOZSPKopXMD1CSn6kQBiZH_wYWbKa5xtpW51qfX2XN1/s1600/IMG_4194.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7Lt3hT2ShoM30saWoJALiYbj4Btk5MfH6Hhqw71R2B-tm-E53Kf1An-SolTFh9GNrBtHmze5CPvy2vKFnGJHpahh2ffLd7DZ2bOZSPKopXMD1CSn6kQBiZH_wYWbKa5xtpW51qfX2XN1/s320/IMG_4194.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorge in Montenegro</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">All good things must end though and by early afternoon I’m fighting to stay awake on a busy main road whilst the sun cooks me slowly at 35 degrees celcius. A local man suggests a good spot for a swim in a river as I lie down under a tree for a power nap. I’m too tired to move, I close my eyes </span>for a few minutes under a fig tree before rolling away to the next town near the Albanian border.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOo2avYLBdA-izZu5iArYSdpYnsJPCiHDOVVRr6_RDh_aZIVYBGYTrBo5I2F5Q0X7hViPWqnAYsFg5412YNAWXWVycjyx6pipd3T9TzPHpW0Z6uYO3nS_aRhzbFyWw9QVN2RDJccu0Eeh/s1600/IMG_4197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOo2avYLBdA-izZu5iArYSdpYnsJPCiHDOVVRr6_RDh_aZIVYBGYTrBo5I2F5Q0X7hViPWqnAYsFg5412YNAWXWVycjyx6pipd3T9TzPHpW0Z6uYO3nS_aRhzbFyWw9QVN2RDJccu0Eeh/s200/IMG_4197.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">A taxi driver makes a particularly close pass and gestures for me to get off the tarmac onto the intermittent gravel shoulder, everyone passes close here and I get the feeling that cyclists are not welcome on these roads. Earlier in the day I was passed so close that I was sucked sideways towards the rear door of an Opel at 45mph, I see no choice other than to keep moving though. Hanging around and procrastinating would just be prolonging the pain. I’m surprised to find a long queue at the Albanian border, I’m not waiting though and I pull in behind a couple of Italian motorcyclists on big capacity adventure bikes. Waiting for the queue to move we chat, I tell them that I ride an Italian Moto Guzzi motorbike back home and we exchange travel plans. Dark storm clouds hang over the mountains to my left and a strong wind picks up. Fortunately it’s a tail wind which propels me south to a</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> town buzzing with crowds and roadside stalls. Cars stop in the middle of the road and discharge more people that you'd think could fit inside a 40 year old Mercedes saloon. Pavements are littered in what looks like the most random bric a brac stalls; cookware, cushions, handbags all laid out in piles next to the road. Two old men come up to me when I pull over to check my route, they want to know what I’m doing but they don't speak any English. My Albanian is worse than their English. One of them calls their son who does speak English and gets me to explain to him what I’m doing. I explain but I need to get moving, I’m a long way from my 300km target for the day. With this in mind stopping at a restaurant for a meal seems indulgent but that’s exactly what I do in the next town I reach, it’s a premature reward for what will follow between here and Meteora. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Following a pasta meal </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I’m on the main road to Tirana and it’s become very dark, Albania has little in the way of street lighting once away from major roads. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I try and piece together the landscape from distant lights and silhouettes but it’s mainly ‘head down arse up get me out of here’ riding as cars and lorries scream past. I have to divert off the main road when it turns into a motorway but my alternative is a string of unlit potholed back roads, the kind of thing you find at the back of a row of terraced houses back home in Yorkshire. I find a mini market open</span> at midnight <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">and stock up on caffeine drinks. I’m temped by a ripe looking water melon until I remember that I don’t have a knife. Focus! I tell myself once more. I know from my planning that there’s a bridge out ahead but the gravel diversion takes longer than expected, 45 minutes seems to vanish in the blink of an eye during the wee hours. Around one corner an oncoming car forces me to the right of the road where CRACK! I've hit a massive pot hole. The stereo hiss of two rapidly deflating tyres spells trouble. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmOfAQt69HLaUl1XZtsyuyEZpjjelZlj8w2xl600bP00aaU7SzUN-7MAj6xjTB1Ypbh0JyEE6W4Bz1GBbNcMnKPrMn1L-zaiJQFoT_xdXcFEgMWWX5owTyY6MZ_WFA5I1q-SMmx_bwZwA/s1600/IMG_4202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmOfAQt69HLaUl1XZtsyuyEZpjjelZlj8w2xl600bP00aaU7SzUN-7MAj6xjTB1Ypbh0JyEE6W4Bz1GBbNcMnKPrMn1L-zaiJQFoT_xdXcFEgMWWX5owTyY6MZ_WFA5I1q-SMmx_bwZwA/s400/IMG_4202.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Double puncture, double trouble</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">t’s pitch black where I pull over, no streetlights and my dynamo lights switch off soon after stopping. Both tyres are totally flat and I don't fancy my chances making a tubeless repair in the dark. Within a couple of minutes a car stops and the driver checks if I’m ok, he offers me a bed for the night and warns me of hit and run incidents round here at night. I thank him for his concern and a few minutes later a second car stops and four young men get out. Again they want to help and their car headlights are appreciated as I fit a couple of inner tubes and re-inflate my wheels. Its a relief to be rolling towards Tirana again.</span> 3am <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">is dead time, no-one wants to be awake and I look for a suitable spot for a nap. I’m about to lie down in a closed filling station when the owner comes put and asks me what I'm doing. The city is not the place for a quiet nap. In the centre of Tirana cars drag race, I see Ferraris and Lamborghinis going head to head as I sit eating a gyro amongst the party people on a street corner. I think I may have travelled through time to the Wild West</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhETAxwPQl8dh5TbfkwUbZDNwyTEiRqJ_h-cjrPFk4K7c1UxrwRDR0rGxVEWUYy-UdyHx5RWAcCf5dfCcOiMRzdfRaUe5U8g1tM-pyhrLl7DH-vx1r5UpE6GV54DsZSkbSnpnF2nY_1oBiS/s1600/IMG_4204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhETAxwPQl8dh5TbfkwUbZDNwyTEiRqJ_h-cjrPFk4K7c1UxrwRDR0rGxVEWUYy-UdyHx5RWAcCf5dfCcOiMRzdfRaUe5U8g1tM-pyhrLl7DH-vx1r5UpE6GV54DsZSkbSnpnF2nY_1oBiS/s400/IMG_4204.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tirana </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gyro at takeaway 4am</td></tr>
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By dawn I’ve escaped Tirana via a mountain pass to the south. The morning is spent climbing a long valley to a minor road which turns out to be gravel. 50km of gravel is going to be slow and the chances of puncturing high, and, I’m down to my last spare inner tube. I move a couple of waypoints in the Komoot app and re-plan east to a large lake. It doesn't get me out of a big climb at the hottest point of the day - a busy hairpin pass which has more roadside car washes than the rest of Europe put together. Given the barren landscape you'd think that water would be scarce here but it’s gushing from roadside hosepipes and sprinklers like it’s going out of fashion.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45Q8YvFCUJfh7WxukL9tvAIoi6xKa6MVP-Cuwn11hzL6GPXcudP4EzmTxaLYuEMe7D9ztvPBtTCvUemEAzYp08fEPzbT6OkPhOlJK5V46lSHe1cZk34lC5o6hm2FPPxbIn8GCtMgnleMd/s1600/IMG_4206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45Q8YvFCUJfh7WxukL9tvAIoi6xKa6MVP-Cuwn11hzL6GPXcudP4EzmTxaLYuEMe7D9ztvPBtTCvUemEAzYp08fEPzbT6OkPhOlJK5V46lSHe1cZk34lC5o6hm2FPPxbIn8GCtMgnleMd/s400/IMG_4206.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">street art in tunnel under motorway</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sunrise south of Tirana</td></tr>
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From here it’s easy rolling to near the Greek border under the glare of the early afternoon sun. I’m running on caffeine following my ride through the night, the afternoon drags but I know that the finish line is within my grasp before sleep. I kick myself for not having paid more attention whilst route planning because I failed to notice that Komoot’s suggested route into Greece isn’t an official border crossing. No, it's a sandy, lumpy track that terminates in a field of cows by a stone marking the Greek border. I enter Greece through the back door wary of punctures from the rough gorse strewn path. I’m also watching the clock anxiously, I know that there are two other riders not far behind and if they have a better route they could well pass me.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNVOF6SMRUN3CpVBqu_QeKcHaOWwjZrimMGHf-KQ65sk88ot18NTbiM-rW16Xan3n81Z5rgU9bw7YHvlWzi5AESXSjJHftjnMY3mi98Fx2q8qNMof42XlDmKPcwGQ-6NJxnwbJXBBvQ2_r/s1600/IMG_4225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNVOF6SMRUN3CpVBqu_QeKcHaOWwjZrimMGHf-KQ65sk88ot18NTbiM-rW16Xan3n81Z5rgU9bw7YHvlWzi5AESXSjJHftjnMY3mi98Fx2q8qNMof42XlDmKPcwGQ-6NJxnwbJXBBvQ2_r/s400/IMG_4225.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Albanian B road</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHpGMaMjp1aVbR1VQO1InSH1WdCAR7lSP66o2qXTmM5Vn17mBIP2HlgfCsXrVVgY07B64FBhkvQSmaGC5T17JAoRTTXMZIqMd-3hygbnkDh96yLPrx1RXRBMukSZNrthVwqUXXxXWtp2h/s1600/IMG_4219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHpGMaMjp1aVbR1VQO1InSH1WdCAR7lSP66o2qXTmM5Vn17mBIP2HlgfCsXrVVgY07B64FBhkvQSmaGC5T17JAoRTTXMZIqMd-3hygbnkDh96yLPrx1RXRBMukSZNrthVwqUXXxXWtp2h/s400/IMG_4219.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">rush hour</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfM5om9U-_z0HcEpI8xfouwDVx9LD1JAGfISvTcnaPmGKmnLEMv0CFxL9nEpFp1tOFgQS-qvW-b7ieWRhD-JUqjvxb9hagMxRVkvtXikxCuC8RLPn455EJZ-Atk6FRDhuQyxc5rEAuuhyphenhyphenn/s1600/IMG_4301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfM5om9U-_z0HcEpI8xfouwDVx9LD1JAGfISvTcnaPmGKmnLEMv0CFxL9nEpFp1tOFgQS-qvW-b7ieWRhD-JUqjvxb9hagMxRVkvtXikxCuC8RLPn455EJZ-Atk6FRDhuQyxc5rEAuuhyphenhyphenn/s400/IMG_4301.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sneaking in to Greece via the back door</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Early evening is Greek social time and the village bars are busy with locals. I pick up a few sesame seed bars and a large bottle of water which I hope will see me through to the finish. The sun drops and I peer towards the horizon in an attempt to see my destination but it’s wishful thinking. Meteora is hidden from view, I have at least 100km and some big climbing ahead of me. I check my route once more and eliminate a few hundred metres of climbing with a time saving re-route. By the time it gets dark I'm exhausted, blindly following Komoot’s blue line on my iPhone and wishing for the finish. I'm struggling to stay awake and one climb from a quarry deep in a valley seems to be never ending. The road climbs through pine forest and in my tired and confused state I keep thinking that I'm in Germany. I start to see mild hallucinations, a cat running past, buildings, people. None of them are real. Last time this happened was 15 hours into a 600k/24 hour ride so I’m not too perturbed but it's a warning that I'm approaching my limits. Around midnight the urge to sleep almost wins out. For the first time in the race I give in and take a couple of caffeine tablets to see me through to the finish. </div>
<div>
The climb to the final parcours is fairly brutal but I’m riding on auto pilot. 10% incline? Yeah, whatever. I did this stuff on my training rides, just keep moving and don’t dwell on the moment. I grind upwards knowing that with each metre covered I'm one metre closer to the finish. The darkness hides the magnificence of Meteora’s rock pillars, they are vague silhouettes and I'm too busy avoiding rocks in the road whilst following a purple line on my phone to guess at their beauty.
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I roll down towards the finish looking for Pub 38 and suddenly I hear whooping and applause to my left. People! Yes! The finish!!!<br />
<br />
I’m helped from my bike and given a cushioned seat outside the pub. On the table to my right is a large beer and a gyro, I’m told that there is a room for me at the hotel across the street. Perfect, I thought I’d be sleeping rough tonight. Its 2.35am and I've finished 19th, it’ll sink in once I’ve slept but for now I'm numb. James Hayden’s parents are doing a fantastic job of manning the finish line. James’ dad carries my bike to my hotel room and checks I’m ok before leaving me to pass out. If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey it’s that people like people, and they are generous. So much more generous than you’d ever believe if you spend your life fearing the world at large. As Curtis Mayfield sang a few times:
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">"Bite your lip
</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And take a trip
</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Though there may be wet road ahead
</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And you cannot slip
</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Just move on up
</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">For peace you'll find
</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Into the steeple of beautiful people
</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Where there's only one kind"</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh47AnkvRZVlS-KZ-Edl9T_cL9OlM2o9qjKL1EmQC3Nadt2__RXCXXGL5dOzpOgj63ss14QC13i4600DmVYDHJky6hK7PzGaGKuRZhowWdm6I7MHQ1KP5e3DQK-rE8MiRSgNXieVR7H4GsX/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.27.10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="1046" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh47AnkvRZVlS-KZ-Edl9T_cL9OlM2o9qjKL1EmQC3Nadt2__RXCXXGL5dOzpOgj63ss14QC13i4600DmVYDHJky6hK7PzGaGKuRZhowWdm6I7MHQ1KP5e3DQK-rE8MiRSgNXieVR7H4GsX/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.27.10.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqayXODOmgvRI3N1GgnZseJNRMKb7o5jutS9tu7FKXhWOJ2v7fl8Ikl1tBrpT9ADDLdR2mcKIWcca5LIuC7x3J2tFL4wzYSoDd9cnAcUQTPXqSC4folnY-QgaBrVDoBDYEiD476UF17rx1/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.27.29.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="1047" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqayXODOmgvRI3N1GgnZseJNRMKb7o5jutS9tu7FKXhWOJ2v7fl8Ikl1tBrpT9ADDLdR2mcKIWcca5LIuC7x3J2tFL4wzYSoDd9cnAcUQTPXqSC4folnY-QgaBrVDoBDYEiD476UF17rx1/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.27.29.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<h3 style="-en-clipboard: true;">
Bike
</h3>
<div>
Genesis 931 Croix de Fer custom build with carbon fork
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<div>
Dura Ace cranks with 52/36 Q rings
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<div>
Ultegra mechs and 11-32 cassette
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<div>
Hydraulic disc brakes
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<div>
Carbonal 45mm deep section carbon rims laced to Hope rear hub and SP dynamo front hub<br />
Schwalbe Pro 1 tubeless 28mm tyres
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<div>
B & M dynamo lights with USB socket for charging phone
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<div>
Topeak iPhone case
</div>
<div>
Thomson seatpost
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<div>
Selle Italia SLR Kit saddle
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Gel pads double taped under handlebars
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<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Luggage
</h3>
<div>
Apidura waterproof frame bag
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<div>
Sea2Summit dry sack strapped under tri-bars at front
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Apidura fuel cell
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Topeak top tube bag
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<div>
Apidura large waterproof seat pack </div>
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<h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
A big thanks to...</h3>
<div>
Jen at Velofondista for bike preparation and travel arrangements</div>
<div>
Guy, Claire and Nicola for keeping Gutsibits running</div>
<div>
The Huddersfield Star Wheelers, HCC E riders and Stadium Riders that have encouraged me over the years<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHOPw1yI7rjCC1-i1v_M_4tynfx6tD50IFtjRoBhz1BOxrLXP_OR9I7EEeAbyQ6NKbMma8-uSVQ_cY2UGC9hzwaZvYG-iP1VYlkT8n-gMsZS4IRMR9Q3HpPZAtra0vkCi58XB1a3grIJz/s1600/7518643072_IMG_2629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHOPw1yI7rjCC1-i1v_M_4tynfx6tD50IFtjRoBhz1BOxrLXP_OR9I7EEeAbyQ6NKbMma8-uSVQ_cY2UGC9hzwaZvYG-iP1VYlkT8n-gMsZS4IRMR9Q3HpPZAtra0vkCi58XB1a3grIJz/s640/7518643072_IMG_2629.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view near Meteora</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmzus9wCl-wKPnePNgDg1uWLEVBeeYZjy04bw_XQlQLJAtEMpd0gAnu6nfDpPSxqFfbygBBDHv92j4t2t5-JyMp3JmtqZhZ6gWD_bEDDIrmOILAcHu6mF2JW7g01Fyn1kAoAbV5F_ZIRc/s640/7522796288_IMG_2662.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the rock pillars of Meteora</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmzus9wCl-wKPnePNgDg1uWLEVBeeYZjy04bw_XQlQLJAtEMpd0gAnu6nfDpPSxqFfbygBBDHv92j4t2t5-JyMp3JmtqZhZ6gWD_bEDDIrmOILAcHu6mF2JW7g01Fyn1kAoAbV5F_ZIRc/s1600/7522796288_IMG_2662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmzus9wCl-wKPnePNgDg1uWLEVBeeYZjy04bw_XQlQLJAtEMpd0gAnu6nfDpPSxqFfbygBBDHv92j4t2t5-JyMp3JmtqZhZ6gWD_bEDDIrmOILAcHu6mF2JW7g01Fyn1kAoAbV5F_ZIRc/s1600/7522796288_IMG_2662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7bn2Y63FggHBRVif35SBNlhIqqNMvciASMGSFWDbzvrq_OcpeYdBO6s88-788uA-UQpKSp-FW4ok1yRx6e93zkbrqXNwyusXy2KKzf69xcIbqyIO-bWNdUh2k7hVBXLpLDH6YVwW69Pxg/s1600/7585665872_IMG_2659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7bn2Y63FggHBRVif35SBNlhIqqNMvciASMGSFWDbzvrq_OcpeYdBO6s88-788uA-UQpKSp-FW4ok1yRx6e93zkbrqXNwyusXy2KKzf69xcIbqyIO-bWNdUh2k7hVBXLpLDH6YVwW69Pxg/s640/7585665872_IMG_2659.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monastry on a pillar </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXLXonxBEmJNpLJg12aTxKiuEOz1vTxf56j7Em5wl3-2nWcPGsT7UaWT70zYpuuh-yztiiUWJuwFItZn7h7mXniJmIc274i_BQI6X69otwu8NHTvs6vclwCpRRJmvtmyU18cFX1781jrn/s1600/7585777184_IMG_2673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXLXonxBEmJNpLJg12aTxKiuEOz1vTxf56j7Em5wl3-2nWcPGsT7UaWT70zYpuuh-yztiiUWJuwFItZn7h7mXniJmIc274i_BQI6X69otwu8NHTvs6vclwCpRRJmvtmyU18cFX1781jrn/s640/7585777184_IMG_2673.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNuOuGZjJ1PIyKcLUwQJKQYWput8nP94h-V_WqfOjsqDTkkwlEcUQ5Yw3Us6t1bDimWGTaOg1SSXR4mAEoCPHETcBzsCVLlJkgKqrdN2iUl9wLYhdRSXK2QMuHFYk7G7VICAzW3gxjabtd/s1600/IMG_4303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNuOuGZjJ1PIyKcLUwQJKQYWput8nP94h-V_WqfOjsqDTkkwlEcUQ5Yw3Us6t1bDimWGTaOg1SSXR4mAEoCPHETcBzsCVLlJkgKqrdN2iUl9wLYhdRSXK2QMuHFYk7G7VICAzW3gxjabtd/s640/IMG_4303.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></div>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-90454327806626962432018-11-14T10:37:00.001-08:002018-11-14T10:37:27.986-08:00TCRNo6 part 4: Chasing the Sun<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_giA4ZcPLRatmBMMKYEfpazWKNJM-V66taE2CSY4zNlKj8g6G1yWdUFwYKzvp8QsZS29xRjFzaK0KWF_wLnwqRhzrACwvcAJ1qo2A7IUzfb9dc7RqXwBH-APUJT1PvKwg12RexaqVHIOE/s1600/IMG_3940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_giA4ZcPLRatmBMMKYEfpazWKNJM-V66taE2CSY4zNlKj8g6G1yWdUFwYKzvp8QsZS29xRjFzaK0KWF_wLnwqRhzrACwvcAJ1qo2A7IUzfb9dc7RqXwBH-APUJT1PvKwg12RexaqVHIOE/s200/IMG_3940.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a>I may be chasing the sun south but by early evening I’m once again wondering where to sleep. With few hotels and big miles to cover it's looking like a bivvy night. I start looking for an evening meal, searching every village main street for a bar as I roll through. The first bar I enter is full of locals but no-one speaks English one of whom helpfully rings their brother so he can translate for me. No luck with food though so I cruise on to the next village where I find fresh pizza and draught Czech beer, perfect.<br />
Twenty miles later I stop at a bus stop and unroll my sleeping bag on the concrete floor, a clean, dry floor is all I need tonight.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-EHNZ2VZiQ1c2UddMtX4kPkMIdU2AyTofZi2PyMBE4E5R6vFE00C1ekcp7dL4MOlyKm0BX-s3UGZQP4BYBPze4ub2IRi1OSR52CofUhETgiaFObsCp9Sp7-iNbXHzGNzkfMDVSJ62eql/s1600/IMG_4024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-EHNZ2VZiQ1c2UddMtX4kPkMIdU2AyTofZi2PyMBE4E5R6vFE00C1ekcp7dL4MOlyKm0BX-s3UGZQP4BYBPze4ub2IRi1OSR52CofUhETgiaFObsCp9Sp7-iNbXHzGNzkfMDVSJ62eql/s640/IMG_4024.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Early dawn the next day is once again damp and misty, I’m glad I was under cover for the night. By midday I’m crossing back into Austria near Vienna </span>with my 'Best of The Allergies' playlist turned up to full. Riding south east into Vienna I follow a bike path along the River Danube’s shores. It's good to be back in Vienna, my last visit was in 1992 when I studied at the Theresianische Akademie for 2 months although my main memories are of spending long days smoking liquorice rollups in the city’s parks and enjoying the Viennese nightlife. I cross the river to an island in the river; the Donau Insel. To my surprise it appears to be a nudist camp judging from the naked old men swinging saggy skin in the wind. At least there’s a water fountain to fill up from and I’m soon sprinting between traffic lights across the city centre and out the far side towards Hungary.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MFf1C4LXAR9OvItlfklGwlOs0emIhTL9W_Umn2umjRcxLwrxISEl0LZ8lnh-RocPmC575a9LEajUWgQkXMhCfesq6egBgVBu7pTCi4LNWCC79aXcLnNPlbXOHTukaTPN6GzSkQbbn695/s1600/IMG_4040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MFf1C4LXAR9OvItlfklGwlOs0emIhTL9W_Umn2umjRcxLwrxISEl0LZ8lnh-RocPmC575a9LEajUWgQkXMhCfesq6egBgVBu7pTCi4LNWCC79aXcLnNPlbXOHTukaTPN6GzSkQbbn695/s200/IMG_4040.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="200" /></a><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I’m forced off road at the Hungarian border when the road I ride becomes a motorway. I booked a hotel earlier in the town of Sarva and I’m soon facing a 60km time trial to reach the hotel in time to check in. The sun drops from the sky and I’m left spinning my way south through twilit Hungary. I make it for 9.15pm and with some relief wheel my bike into the hotel’s reception. The proprietress looks horrified and tells me to remove it, apparently it must be left in the car park. I’m exhausted and soon fuming, I explain that it’s valuable and will be stolen outside. She won’t budge and after weighing up the possibility of finding another hotel at this time of night I hide the bike under a staircase in the car park, remove the bags and lock it to a fence. Following a quick change of clothes I</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> find a restaurant for pasta and a beer where I’m “entertained” by the local crooner. My stay is completed with a telling off the next morning for my noisy shoes on the wooden reception floor at 5am. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Hungary is probably great for time trialling but it bores me, the morning passes slowly on flat straight </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">roads and I can’t wait for the Croatian border where there is the promise of hills. </span>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">By lunchtime I’m climbing up through wooded Croatian pastures passing small holdings every few hundred metres. It looks idyllic; piles of chopped wood, fruit trees, goats and sheep. I need to find myself a house here.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "proximanova" , "arial" , "verdana" , "bitstream vera sans" , sans-serif;"><i>The index of a civilisation is not how many poor people sit in cars, it’s how many rich people ride a bicycle - Anon</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">At 8pm I reach the Bosnian border where a couple of riders appear to be waiting for me, they suggest I ride with them. It turns out they are dot watching and are planning to take me to a restaurant. I follow them but get concerned as it gets dark and I remember that it's 11 hours since my last proper meal. “Its only 6km” says Aleks. We pass several more restaurants and I’m about to split when he stops at a pizza place. He orders for me and spends the next 40 minutes questioning me about my bike setup.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> Aleks is desperate to leave Bosnia for western Europe where there are jobs and money, he paints a bleak picture of life in Bosnia. I politely decline the offer of a bed for the night at his parent’s place, I need to get away from here. I find a 5* bivvy spot in a hay barn nearby and wake up at 4am covered in sticky buds from the hay.</span></div>
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Back on the SH1 highway the next morning I take advantage of the early hour to cover some distance before the truckers get going.<br />
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The road into Banja Luka is a long US style strip of shops and warehouses, it’s only when I reach the ornate striped stone mosque in the centre of the city that remember what country I’m in.<br />
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The city bustles with early morning deliveries; refuse wagons, newspaper deliveries and all that other stuff which normally happens whilst you are still in bed. I remember to check my route on the south side of the city having heard that No 2 rider Bjørn Lenhard rode a lengthy diversion near here. It’s OK, my route is very different. Escaping a narrow valley I climb up into the Bosnian highlands, a beautiful quiet area that appears alpine at points. I spot a roadside bar with a car park full of tractors and vans where I can get a proper breakfast, I’ll need it to reach CP 4 today.<br />
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Using the international language of pointing I order omelette, coffee and orange juice. The locals are forestry and farm workers, they seem amused by my arrival, perhaps they don’t see many visitors here. Father and son emerge from back of the cafe carrying a skinned pig on a spit, they take it to a brick hut next to the bar where they light a fire and lower the spit over it. That’s going to be good by lunchtime.
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The locals clear off to get on with their work and I throw my leg over the Croix de Fer once more, bound for Sarajevo via some spectacular gorges and summits. That is until I hit a major road 100km from the city. Trucks and taxis brush past until I find an escape route through the hills, climbs are the price of avoiding the convoys of buses and trucks threading their way along the main roads. It suits me, I get a better feel for the country from the back roads. My map shows that I’m nearing CP 4, I didn’t know whether I would get this far and yet now I’m nearly on the home straight. Climbing through tight switchbacks towards the checkpoint I can make out the call to prayer floating up from a mosque in the valley, now I really do feel like I’ve travelled.<br />
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Roadside trees sport red signs warning of the danger of mines, a rude reminder that this was once one of the twentieth century’s most bloody battle grounds. Abandoned houses and hotels complete the picture. It’s hard for a generation who’ve grown up at the peaceful end of western Europe to imagine the horror of what happened here.<br />
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A sign at 1100m marks the col before a descent into an alpine basin where the air is thick with the scent of barbecued meat as families picnic beside their cars on lush flowering meadows. Round the corner are alpine style ski lodges and CP4, I roll in to be greeted with enthusiastic whoops by the Apidura crew. They stamp my brevet card at an open air desk under the generous wooden eaves of the ski hotel and snap a Polaroid for their ‘Apidura wall’ - a notice board with Polaroid snaps of riders pinned to it. “What are we writing on this then?” They ask. Feeling good from the last climb I reply “the legs are still on it”.</div>
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It’s 6.45pm, i need to climb the gravel parcours before nightfall. I know it’ll be tough, it’s a good 1000m of climbing from here on loose gravel and I’m riding deep section wheels and carrying luggage. It’s not as bad as I feared in the end and the sight of a couple of riders high above on the zig-zagging track keeps me moving. I meet ‘Hippy’ aka Stuart Birnie on the way up, he’s having less fun than me and has resorted to carrying his loaded bike down the mountain. The loose gravel of the hairpins does make this parcours particularly challenging but I’m loving climbing the track through the golden light of magic hour, every turn rewarded by a new alpine vista.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7ST7HO_6jQtVM3t80N2CkHITPJ5nRr_-2bqp46FfvsS8AwV-d3QzYPbYTOCP2MPgm795VsVrJ_PfzuS5hwWu1SE1O46o3Gd0r2Lc98BY5OBiYeyorv74ZgaHvWpPIEGsoCRkyuDbQzSb/s1600/IMG_4163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7ST7HO_6jQtVM3t80N2CkHITPJ5nRr_-2bqp46FfvsS8AwV-d3QzYPbYTOCP2MPgm795VsVrJ_PfzuS5hwWu1SE1O46o3Gd0r2Lc98BY5OBiYeyorv74ZgaHvWpPIEGsoCRkyuDbQzSb/s200/IMG_4163.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" width="150" /></a>For the first time in the a week I’m glad I spent the summer training by riding off road epics rather than grinding big miles on the road. I'm not too tired to laugh either when one of my wheels digs in and slaloms pitching me off the bike. As I reel in the rider a couple of hairpins ahead of me I’m distracted by the view, it reminds me of the Little Peru area on the Torino Nice Rally, magic hour light reflecting shades of pink and orange on distant limestone peaks whilst closer by the grass is on fire with the golden glow of sunset. I reach the top soon after Bryce who’s out of spare tubes and nursing shredded tyres, he’s not relishing the descent. At the summit of the Bjelašnica there's a shot up wedge shaped concrete building, an eerie relic of the 1984 Winter Olympics and stark reminder of a tragic past. Looking west the sun is setting and I don't want be stuck up here fixing shredded tyres in the dark. I ride back down more carefully than I’ve descended any mountain in my life.<br />
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-71706660136130647962018-11-12T09:18:00.001-08:002018-11-12T09:18:35.341-08:00TCRNo6 part 3: Northern Diversion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The moon lights my way to Austria via Kranjska Gora the next morning. Riding through this Slovenian National Park it’s difficult to make out any signs of civilisation save the occasional campsite or stone farmhouse. High above the dark silhouette of a mountain ridge draws a jagged line under the stars. I’m too busy grinding my way up to the 1680m col to notice dawn arrive but I’m glad of the daylight on my descent into Kranjska Gora on slippery cobbled switchbacks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFz9WOkjCrIDS-lPhtHWlZN5dOzuflZJkWvpUPmzsLXPVcb0QmZzHhmvHEEEvPEsCZNmMfoiTwr5y2axWf4J15HRvx3XTK5KAA0K5CTIggsDeu6pCJKdAvOI5WwsAnQNB4DpNC57Gdr1h/s1600/IMG_3880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFz9WOkjCrIDS-lPhtHWlZN5dOzuflZJkWvpUPmzsLXPVcb0QmZzHhmvHEEEvPEsCZNmMfoiTwr5y2axWf4J15HRvx3XTK5KAA0K5CTIggsDeu6pCJKdAvOI5WwsAnQNB4DpNC57Gdr1h/s640/IMG_3880.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="Descending to Kranjska Gora" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkqG8o5MjuNlR9iU64t8bPkFDyjUVu6Uabn4p3iNHrNBL8B1VSJwl9Vr7l7yVRtmMEZacbkazgQlVGjTCQbnUtlMGdSAicd2A3HBstdwHvP9fyk6UkQUFukMV5CCdNC116dGRyuCXkSXq/s1600/IMG_3888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkqG8o5MjuNlR9iU64t8bPkFDyjUVu6Uabn4p3iNHrNBL8B1VSJwl9Vr7l7yVRtmMEZacbkazgQlVGjTCQbnUtlMGdSAicd2A3HBstdwHvP9fyk6UkQUFukMV5CCdNC116dGRyuCXkSXq/s200/IMG_3888.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="view from the cockpit" width="150" /></a>I’m now at the base of a 1600km dog leg north to Poland and CP3. I’d forgotten how mountainous the middle of Austria is but I’m rewarded by fantastic alpine views. By early afternoon I’m wondering where to sleep for the night, last minute booking app Trivago fails to come up with anything in my price range and the towns I pass through are deadly quiet. Noticing a pizzeria I stop for a meal with a plan to ride into the night and bivvy later, it’s only 50km to the Danube.</div>
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Riding towards the Danube post pizza under clear skies is a delight, floodlit castles keep watch over the valley from a ridge high above and a light tail wind encourages me north to the river's languid waters. I sneak into a campsite and roll my sleeping bag out on the damp ground under a tree. Four hours later I'm on the move again through the mist of Friday's dawn. Climbing out of the Danube valley is a wake up call I could do without but it does at least warm the blood flowing to my chilled hands and feet. The sun rises high above shortening my shadow, and without warning, the <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">road changes abruptly from smooth tarmac to pock marked concrete. I’m now in the Czech Republic. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">The mountains are now a distant memory, the scenery here alternates between undulating fields of golden wheat and ancient pine woodland. Quiet lanes lead north under a dense </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">canopy of Douglas Firs until I emerge miles later outside a large town where a late bakery breakfast is found. I’ve been looking forward to croissants but there's nothing resembling a croissant or pain au raisin here. The cakes are still good though. Today seems like hard work, my legs feel tired and I’m making heavy weather of what should be an easy cruising kind of day. Perhaps this is ‘the hump’, I’ve been warned that at some point 3-5 days into this kind of ride I’ll have a day where motivation dives and fatigue catches up with me. I just need to keep moving, tomorrow will be different I tell myself as I book a hotel in the town of Kolin on the River Elbe for that evening. A tweet telling me I’m in 30th place boosts my motivation late in the day and by the time I arrive in Kolin I’m feeling more positive. I'm too late for a restaurant table</span> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">so I end up finding a takeaway pizza which is washed down with some of the Czech Republic’s famous pilsner, I love Czech beer. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">My hotel o</span>verlooks the town square and I’m surprised to find locals still partying in the square at 4.30am the next morning. North of Kolin there’s a bucolic beauty to the Czech landscapes I roll through, they appear almost like water colours in the early morning light, softened by wisps of mist.</div>
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The town of Vrchlabi is my last stop before CP3, there’s 700m climbing ahead of me so I get stuck into a breakfast of milkshake, fruit and pastries on the grass outside a supermarket. The climb to CP3 is an easy spin from the south, families cruise down the descent on what look like big wheeled mountain scooters. One man scoots down with his kid clinging to his back, she screams all the way as he takes corners at 20mph. No helmets required, just optimism.<br />
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The parcours on the north side is a different matter, an out and back ordeal on a rough 25% gradient road marked with craters and tree root ridges. My brakes howl as wheels slip and bounce on the way down, legs and lungs scream on the way back up but at least I’ve stayed on the pedals. For once I’m efficient at the checkpoint and I’m soon on my way back down the hill, southbound for Greece. It’s more than 800km to the next checkpoint and I'm estimating three days riding to Sarajevo. Best crack on then...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">day 5</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_vmPKLdsUS2rCM0wbHkRnwVMmV-vIGXk8jy8p27-QKYkmoZh-JDudFtpHw3yTrXvk2aGEwaZsDorgJ9mhH8jkf3mzDRw9pnHZMG_DJTvhl7FgDLU1LOMmgdpugn0paaTo02omrAD1ZNO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.25.32.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="515" data-original-width="1044" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_vmPKLdsUS2rCM0wbHkRnwVMmV-vIGXk8jy8p27-QKYkmoZh-JDudFtpHw3yTrXvk2aGEwaZsDorgJ9mhH8jkf3mzDRw9pnHZMG_DJTvhl7FgDLU1LOMmgdpugn0paaTo02omrAD1ZNO/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.25.32.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">day 6</td></tr>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-19954426835554466352018-11-09T09:33:00.001-08:002018-11-09T09:33:32.279-08:00TCRNo6 part 2: East is East<h4>
Alpine High</h4>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySjcIepI1BhP4cAv3gohOqQ_9lTAmNLNT-aULSU3-54L3oWsumuYgRRvUX7dNylqZdeqPGnC69Atp_5MlnpcVUZOwF8ev-lGuF1Twkg0I-VcFeiEs2iyFNqDZZTyBARtfMRF5dBMuj4Vr/s1600/IMG_3850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySjcIepI1BhP4cAv3gohOqQ_9lTAmNLNT-aULSU3-54L3oWsumuYgRRvUX7dNylqZdeqPGnC69Atp_5MlnpcVUZOwF8ev-lGuF1Twkg0I-VcFeiEs2iyFNqDZZTyBARtfMRF5dBMuj4Vr/s320/IMG_3850.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="Alpine High" width="240" /></a></div>
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Stunning views and tight rolling switchbacks vie for attention on the descent to a village incongruously littered with high rise hotels. Checking my route I am reminded that the tunnels after the village are banned in the race rules. I’ve planned a route around them but the route isn’t detailed enough and I end up retracing my tyre tracks back up the hill twice. Arriving at the final and longest tunnel I take the gravel path to the left up onto the roof of the tunnel. The path peters out above a steep loose rock strewn slope. I trudge back up the path and remember some instructions about having to enter galleria to find the road that avoids the rest of the tunnel. I coast down and stop at a barrier where the road drops from sunlit galleria into a dark tube diving down into the mountain’s interior. There’s no way I can go in there, within minutes more riders arrive puzzling the same conundrum. To ride into the tunnel would risk disqualification. One by one we each take the track off to the side of the galleria ignoring the “Entritt Verboten” sign on the gate, it’s the only way to avoid the tunnel although we’d all prefer not to climb the extra 100m of switchbacked track the diversion forces on us.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8c7p5QE6532a_WhZCifB-KvnCXwtsMkzlbQhyaf1ES9jZBZYSJL1YJD8PXTVrlx0jJKa5ajyW7jcOwBhwj7OBp3XGiIGWk3dPb1urfktWv_l_yOTMOwTgcARDN-9MR0rMw_NHnT8yf2rm/s1600/IMG_3822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8c7p5QE6532a_WhZCifB-KvnCXwtsMkzlbQhyaf1ES9jZBZYSJL1YJD8PXTVrlx0jJKa5ajyW7jcOwBhwj7OBp3XGiIGWk3dPb1urfktWv_l_yOTMOwTgcARDN-9MR0rMw_NHnT8yf2rm/s200/IMG_3822.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="Brenner Pass" /></a></div>
Next stop Innsbruck, but that next stop seems unreachable. A strong headwind resists every pedal stroke, I drop low over my handlebars to dodge it but progress along the wide valley bottom is painfully slow. The temptation keep stopping is hard to resist and hours pass before the approach to Innsbruck is marked by a British Airways 737 swooping low overhead near the airport.
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The monotony of the climb up the Brenner pass on the old road is tempered by a long chat with a woman who is cycling home from work. We converse using a mix of German and English about family, Brexit, cycling and lots more besides. It’s one of those random meetings that restores your spirits and before I know it I’m descending into Italy. I happen on a hotel early evening and get a good rate for a room. Pasta, weissbier and a comfy bed are enjoyed but my rather meagre 140 miles mean I need to be away for 4am the following morning.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWB-9VqNU0F96Tj5hwUe0nuIsLxmxp9I862pdfdKpNk416K4-vkDepds6EOQmozkv4kddV0teJZytRnuktdwu4SGIw58NHlAqIYLQqbH_L-1pjEBM3xztCeyXLbcnNmBq9b6tiDBl2FzkU/s1600/IMG_3829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWB-9VqNU0F96Tj5hwUe0nuIsLxmxp9I862pdfdKpNk416K4-vkDepds6EOQmozkv4kddV0teJZytRnuktdwu4SGIw58NHlAqIYLQqbH_L-1pjEBM3xztCeyXLbcnNmBq9b6tiDBl2FzkU/s200/IMG_3829.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="Sun rise in the Dolomites" /></a></div>
German seems to be the language of choice in the Süd Tirol despite it technically being Italy, it suites me, I was once fluent and it’s good to be using it again. The bike paths through this area are some of the best I have ridden, I follow one ribbon of smooth tarmac for hours as it flows eastwards up a broad valley in the shadow of the Dolomites. I love this scenery, wide valleys of alpine meadows with tall limestone peaks standing guard to either side. I make a mental note to return here. Later in the day there are climbs but they are welcome after hours on flat bike paths. It also rains, a lot, but it’s similarly welcome after hours of 30 degree heat.
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I bump into a Nick and Doug at the Austro-Italian border further east. We all take the opportunity to stock up in the filling station knowing that we will soon enter rural Slovenia where there are very few shops. The service area is busy with truckers having a beer so I don’t hang around.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyk0ptMxk8xG9_wozhs-R99Nb402cG7DVj9E2HcnpJGa0p2AwzF1Up6oWkOh4-9G6MdFUdSas2Lbtq1AF4-iFQGIY3Id-EjqcXrG9RD-6liikkJOWqacO9fCZU8m-iqpUnvwqgoG1Bn2x/s1600/IMG_3834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdyk0ptMxk8xG9_wozhs-R99Nb402cG7DVj9E2HcnpJGa0p2AwzF1Up6oWkOh4-9G6MdFUdSas2Lbtq1AF4-iFQGIY3Id-EjqcXrG9RD-6liikkJOWqacO9fCZU8m-iqpUnvwqgoG1Bn2x/s640/IMG_3834.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="meadow in the Dolomites" width="640" /></a></div>
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The Quiet End of the Alps</h4>
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Slovenia is beautiful; quiet roads, Alpine scenery and little else. The CP2 parcours is a steep climb to the 2000m Mangert saddle. It starts off vicious with 15% gradients but soon relents and I’m pleased to catch a few riders on the climb. Unfortunately the competitive side of my brain then won't allow me to stop for photos. Except, when sheep block the road and all I can do is wait for the herd and their shepherd to pass on the tight single track road. I’m on a high once more, these mountain views coupled with the sense of achievement from reaching the CP2 parcours is better than any drug. The descent to checkpoint 2 is a hoot, I pick up another couple of places and arrive at the checkpoint hotel wearing a massive grin. I dine at the hotel with a couple of familiar faces and we procrastinate over renting the last available hotel room but I wind up sleeping under a tree outside the hotel entrance once the umpah band in the town centre pipes down.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXyHRHAhROinEJxzTs2DXGLhWUWJpCBRFAT1r6rhrD0nJOwQqrxH3rcpaDqgdKM0n9HC9wubAv7OVhSWPnpPgFCK1OCbPl9_Aak6_bRQpHIV8UhTfuXOAbForYxvwWhuzfXG1-4tE5T-p/s1600/IMG_3836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXyHRHAhROinEJxzTs2DXGLhWUWJpCBRFAT1r6rhrD0nJOwQqrxH3rcpaDqgdKM0n9HC9wubAv7OVhSWPnpPgFCK1OCbPl9_Aak6_bRQpHIV8UhTfuXOAbForYxvwWhuzfXG1-4tE5T-p/s200/IMG_3836.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="in the Dolomites" width="150" /></a>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOajr0iImXlWoo5EYbMr_TMfaCc_SYWo4UeovlPxNrfOtp98TO3ImwbIrbt8mZ0hdPu9qw_pblvM0VP80WysS4utswT2Gr4vCdvNVlg8ecT5mZhlM7UitOqx16RwvDbYuiQgfnwkquF4sj/s1600/IMG_3851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOajr0iImXlWoo5EYbMr_TMfaCc_SYWo4UeovlPxNrfOtp98TO3ImwbIrbt8mZ0hdPu9qw_pblvM0VP80WysS4utswT2Gr4vCdvNVlg8ecT5mZhlM7UitOqx16RwvDbYuiQgfnwkquF4sj/s200/IMG_3851.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="to Slovenia" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HwxrNjMi17Zpjj1JZXBSyA-ce1U4kW6aH3-Q0Kn1zi8jKd9p5cPgOjvoVEJzbbBqJw3QdxGYIKGb3VR-RQ7MKm-hxUkUKonnKSPWRguzZaElh0d6CUMxVZo28l8PWp69Zt__UsBU0aSP/s1600/IMG_3864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HwxrNjMi17Zpjj1JZXBSyA-ce1U4kW6aH3-Q0Kn1zi8jKd9p5cPgOjvoVEJzbbBqJw3QdxGYIKGb3VR-RQ7MKm-hxUkUKonnKSPWRguzZaElh0d6CUMxVZo28l8PWp69Zt__UsBU0aSP/s200/IMG_3864.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="tunnel to the Mangert saddle" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoFHDfOkpCfFBmZx7rtSWCjpeTqeZQk5QzYN7kpr5QwYota1BRoTCfAe5LQttXEby8eF6RuSKh0cfLljQ7KCPqf70vJ_EPRJcU2x7FCcu6dmvnJBDyCdvdVnpT4Ri8r0C__ti_3E032RTX/s1600/IMG_3867.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoFHDfOkpCfFBmZx7rtSWCjpeTqeZQk5QzYN7kpr5QwYota1BRoTCfAe5LQttXEby8eF6RuSKh0cfLljQ7KCPqf70vJ_EPRJcU2x7FCcu6dmvnJBDyCdvdVnpT4Ri8r0C__ti_3E032RTX/s400/IMG_3867.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="Mangert Saddle climb" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4oPLYn_sA1d6vAZkg3N6kbv8EMGQI3tMXAjz8lVA7x_c6XDdPikKZzcgqZUsqcV8NxBNq10xxcVFHr6Vc0v802kWCL3WVp9hbN_L2WkqJ44h9zpfMrbkl01fS1sBmZblzH7Ec_xjnzLmt/s1600/IMG_3873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4oPLYn_sA1d6vAZkg3N6kbv8EMGQI3tMXAjz8lVA7x_c6XDdPikKZzcgqZUsqcV8NxBNq10xxcVFHr6Vc0v802kWCL3WVp9hbN_L2WkqJ44h9zpfMrbkl01fS1sBmZblzH7Ec_xjnzLmt/s400/IMG_3873.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="Mangert Saddle climb" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSXUiO7NACCp0TaAklwrKgDg_0i07fdxW0JDKTHqMggoZSEaRjKAwMC9RqTvaQYyB4kWMBcblKYsKfixmU_mknLcoHWiF9edtYQjOzdedKMRsXt7IXmbv_NSdkw25cBy-bDbsgL1UV2gw/s1600/IMG_3877.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSXUiO7NACCp0TaAklwrKgDg_0i07fdxW0JDKTHqMggoZSEaRjKAwMC9RqTvaQYyB4kWMBcblKYsKfixmU_mknLcoHWiF9edtYQjOzdedKMRsXt7IXmbv_NSdkw25cBy-bDbsgL1UV2gw/s400/IMG_3877.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" title="Mangert Saddle climb" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6mkExz-EiUU2K-MwUEbEXK12uvd_vMCdsnCjuZ1wNHBXOsXaQ2uBQAR0WSofmjwWOjD6JpIy0wRGFsXgJYbKaXGEK-vw9G5K0L5kQ3HYFrRSTbukFHDZzzmsk_wMMKrv6Frwq0rMWgz9/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.24.21.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="1043" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6mkExz-EiUU2K-MwUEbEXK12uvd_vMCdsnCjuZ1wNHBXOsXaQ2uBQAR0WSofmjwWOjD6JpIy0wRGFsXgJYbKaXGEK-vw9G5K0L5kQ3HYFrRSTbukFHDZzzmsk_wMMKrv6Frwq0rMWgz9/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.24.21.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">day 3</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWyxlxnF5TF5pE07tLVc9qMUDOXq9BKQ5a4ZT6Lj2oXmU27pRRhiQkUnXujDokK98IjmCff_HTUasfMAQymtHZANvoxU6ORblfmRMonQ9cMe13GnCerJ-2wbv3PHWjzSdzVIdbSpjRoBP/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.24.40.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="1045" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWyxlxnF5TF5pE07tLVc9qMUDOXq9BKQ5a4ZT6Lj2oXmU27pRRhiQkUnXujDokK98IjmCff_HTUasfMAQymtHZANvoxU6ORblfmRMonQ9cMe13GnCerJ-2wbv3PHWjzSdzVIdbSpjRoBP/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.24.40.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">day 4</td></tr>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-11541092127480764422018-11-07T09:37:00.001-08:002018-11-09T08:35:33.686-08:00TCRNo6 part 1: Alpine Getaway<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
<h4>
Prelude</h4>
“I’m going to refer you to a cardiologist, your heart rate is abnormally low” said Doctor Izara. One routine sentence, many unintended consequences.</div>
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For years I’d dreamt of riding the Transcontinental Race; 2400 miles of point to point self-supported racing across Europe. New countries, adventures and unprecedented personal challenge experienced from the saddle of your own bike. The race first captured my imagination in 2012 before I’d even got into cycling seriously. I read about a race that started in London and finished in Istanbul, I loved the idea of the riders racing to the English Channel, the purity of the challenge appealed to me. I first applied in 2017 but wasn’t successful, so, I applied again in 2018 and was surprised (and slightly petrified) to be offered one of around 260 places in the race. It didn’t seem real and every official email from the race team would trigger a flutter of nervousness as I was reminded of what I had signed up to. Racing more than 2000 miles seemed impossible; and therein was the attraction - overcoming the impossible. However, I wouldn’t even make the start line in Geraardsbergen unless I could get a doctor's note. Unable to get a NHS Cardiology appointment for 59 days I was forced into a private consultation with a cardiologist who understood that a resting heart rate of 37bpm wasn’t a bad thing.
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With 10 days to go wheels were hurriedly built and stuff was jettisoned from the pile of equipment I planned to take. Less would have to be more because my jumble sale of kit would not fit on the bike.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPn5AP_dUF2NS1uuoe4wQ0Y4S_bECFtngjgQ0lW6IpL8NgllZ2CSeYcT_ftS5gI-CXySO9sEnNgLN2CVIFDSF2zV0DcRQ5WooaTtSMsnTd45kzRNHcrfwKDMFZ84qmsGKB8j9_zWX5jAS/s1600/IMG_3759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPn5AP_dUF2NS1uuoe4wQ0Y4S_bECFtngjgQ0lW6IpL8NgllZ2CSeYcT_ftS5gI-CXySO9sEnNgLN2CVIFDSF2zV0DcRQ5WooaTtSMsnTd45kzRNHcrfwKDMFZ84qmsGKB8j9_zWX5jAS/s400/IMG_3759.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a jumble sale of kit</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH18amno_3AeaKNNOU0O4Pdj43XjCgYdMRKjxNj9g3YtKlnakBjdB6NJwUGSD9bPu4zilmSoxeLGuuBskJI9Lvpu8LJezyZwp5saarTOAxR2HeImDSCIBzdPftWcp7V5AaiYexCEM_Wb2o/s1600/IMG_3797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH18amno_3AeaKNNOU0O4Pdj43XjCgYdMRKjxNj9g3YtKlnakBjdB6NJwUGSD9bPu4zilmSoxeLGuuBskJI9Lvpu8LJezyZwp5saarTOAxR2HeImDSCIBzdPftWcp7V5AaiYexCEM_Wb2o/s400/IMG_3797.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jen riding in with me to Geraardsbergen</td></tr>
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One day to go and wife Jen and I drove to Hull with eldest son Arran to catch the overnight Zeebrugge ferry. On arrival in Belgium the next morning a 100km ride along bike paths and quiet roads found us in Geraardsbergen for registration.</div>
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Geraardsbergen was buzzing with riders and their supporters, I tried to stay out of the way, the collective anxiety/excitement level was too high. That day felt like I had a gun to my back, one that I had put there and was now pushing me towards the start line. No turning back, I had committed.</div>
<div>
<i><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />"Failure at some point in your life is inevitable, but giving up is unforgivable." - Joe Biden</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEapnscDzmIvNdUyh2G1zwJjM1cMCLdok98pZXQZA9ke44DpzepHG0IZ1qRJiwecrCmGjaNlNxNgtdXBy9dYw9mLg65EoJeOBFDU15i6motPTpDM-1W-XUn-jCWDvSymQcdOcRHfu9m1k/s1600/IMG_3798.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEapnscDzmIvNdUyh2G1zwJjM1cMCLdok98pZXQZA9ke44DpzepHG0IZ1qRJiwecrCmGjaNlNxNgtdXBy9dYw9mLg65EoJeOBFDU15i6motPTpDM-1W-XUn-jCWDvSymQcdOcRHfu9m1k/s400/IMG_3798.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">race briefing</td></tr>
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<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5uKaz_Yi2Y874sIL9zFA_APVbwoufa4nEcEVDqhWYekAB1GC2lIMkPqB1Mg7T4JeGrjM3rdVWEjB4b3uH5niilw0vuLvgSDB-JWPWyjI5kGYGUa0kRs-cKmHSyStt5zHl8t2iHDn_5Ho/s1600/IMG_3799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5uKaz_Yi2Y874sIL9zFA_APVbwoufa4nEcEVDqhWYekAB1GC2lIMkPqB1Mg7T4JeGrjM3rdVWEjB4b3uH5niilw0vuLvgSDB-JWPWyjI5kGYGUa0kRs-cKmHSyStt5zHl8t2iHDn_5Ho/s400/IMG_3799.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my loaded Genesis 931 Croix de Fer in Gerardsbergen</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5uKaz_Yi2Y874sIL9zFA_APVbwoufa4nEcEVDqhWYekAB1GC2lIMkPqB1Mg7T4JeGrjM3rdVWEjB4b3uH5niilw0vuLvgSDB-JWPWyjI5kGYGUa0kRs-cKmHSyStt5zHl8t2iHDn_5Ho/s1600/IMG_3799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><br />
By 9.30pm the town centre square was crowded with riders and supporters, the atmosphere was excitable but muted, so many unknowns, trepidation ruled. We’d all invested a lot in getting here, physically, mentally and emotionally, and we were only twenty minutes from the next stage of this epic journey. Tick-tock - tick - tock - tick - tock, the second hand crept round the outer edge of the town hall clock. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7oRZgv3m5Q89xdA4BQ0KiVyNskVMrwaGUO67nCsTvXsDBS6XgmzV8u3RR_pyL-eDOkhqWf0_4KcxuyZ_rD5HVhyphenhypheng3qyRvyipJJL2GUt2Xo9mdmFaBeP2eepcXExYmu_XnIka7xajOvxh/s1600/7585769648_IMG_2615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7oRZgv3m5Q89xdA4BQ0KiVyNskVMrwaGUO67nCsTvXsDBS6XgmzV8u3RR_pyL-eDOkhqWf0_4KcxuyZ_rD5HVhyphenhypheng3qyRvyipJJL2GUt2Xo9mdmFaBeP2eepcXExYmu_XnIka7xajOvxh/s400/7585769648_IMG_2615.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me - TCRNo6 Cap 167</td></tr>
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<br />
<h4>
And GO!</h4>
A bell rings, and 260 pairs of shoes scramble to force their way into pedals.A blur of hi-vis clad riders wrestle laden bikes up the cobbled climb known as ‘The Muur’. S<span style="-en-paragraph: true;">upporters lining the climb shout </span>‘Allez, allez!’ and ‘Forza!’ and then, we are all spat out onto a road above The Muur and the race is on. Unfortunately in the excitement I haven’t started my navigation app and at the first set of lights I take the wrong road, unsurprisingly, I’m not the only one making a U turn down the road. FOCUS! I remind myself.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2E1fQYCnGPuvFhs3JjaMihog9Sr8e2SpT2VeWUqDIBNlH7NnWLLqnPF7QSnPSZPWMSIsARNBo2AVLYQ-X_KBxlO4krYoeTPMnvq4ib1Yme5n01GX998kALCD_WQNeftuUkD9c2yNaX5OU/s1600/7522782560_IMG_2621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2E1fQYCnGPuvFhs3JjaMihog9Sr8e2SpT2VeWUqDIBNlH7NnWLLqnPF7QSnPSZPWMSIsARNBo2AVLYQ-X_KBxlO4krYoeTPMnvq4ib1Yme5n01GX998kALCD_WQNeftuUkD9c2yNaX5OU/s400/7522782560_IMG_2621.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GO!</td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><br />I chase down a long string of flashing red lights leading south out of the town. I overtake a few but keep overtaking the same riders miles later, they are sticking to the main roads and I’m routed on less efficient minor roads. Belgium by night feels strange, I pass along quiet rural lanes and into sprawling towns humming with nightshift industry. Lonely traffic lights awaiting late night taxis and bars shutting their doors for the night. Another rider appears from my left at a junction, it’s Greg Hilson, I recently met him on The Racing Collective’s XDURO Wales event. He’s taking it steady tonight, settling into the race and that seems like a good plan. We chat and then go our separate ways following our respective routes. I run low on water and realise that this isn’t one of those countries where there are water fountains everywhere, I peer into the darkness looking for water taps on houses in every village I cruise through. By 3am I am approaching an area that seems to be popular as a holiday resort and I sneak into a campsite to find a tap, the water is warm but it’ll do. Within a few kilometers sleep is beckoning and I take a break on some scrubby grass next to the road. I perform what becomes a well practiced ritual of hipbag off and laid out as a pillow, helmet off and iPhone alarm set to wake me. I’ll take 40 minutes, unfortunately the sound of freewheeling hubs passing every few minutes prevents deep sleep. Somewhere in my head there’s a counter logging how many places I’m slipping whilst I rest. Back on the bike and I head into a beautiful hilly area, steep climbs take me past quaint farmsteads and over wooded hills. I start to question my route choices - this seems very hilly for a country that isn’t known for it’s hills. They are only 200m or so each but it don’t feel like the most efficient route south west. I'm sleepy again and this time I get a good 30 minutes of deep sleep on the lawn of a hotel. Breakfast at a service station follows and a routine is forming, I am finding my rhythm on the road. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLwoLUqQFDi_SoWNG4h6WGZVTB4TDRH8iKWpposhwxB6aoK_Ent0UVnDXqJnibTCobhSBbfSD4wLYKa-PPc0vNsertILA6bNiOmOlOs-kkhf4IHRyboPiAWNpFMMDCGdBfTH3B6K44W26E/s1600/IMG_3800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLwoLUqQFDi_SoWNG4h6WGZVTB4TDRH8iKWpposhwxB6aoK_Ent0UVnDXqJnibTCobhSBbfSD4wLYKa-PPc0vNsertILA6bNiOmOlOs-kkhf4IHRyboPiAWNpFMMDCGdBfTH3B6K44W26E/s400/IMG_3800.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dawn on day 1 somewhere in Belgium</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDr6kf_DE61sd29MDhgRv4L-YWO1tXb3hMUJjLymSDkSvzgmFu0xMpFpl8x97rs8MZzsDVYez6fJN5x6ONmW-3-VAaPcxcA5nF-_6yQBnYu3AwWyPrX_N7K_9TIoTI1PQFVkMSb6Zrx1Nr/s1600/IMG_3801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDr6kf_DE61sd29MDhgRv4L-YWO1tXb3hMUJjLymSDkSvzgmFu0xMpFpl8x97rs8MZzsDVYez6fJN5x6ONmW-3-VAaPcxcA5nF-_6yQBnYu3AwWyPrX_N7K_9TIoTI1PQFVkMSb6Zrx1Nr/s400/IMG_3801.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Belgian satellite dishes</td></tr>
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<div>
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<div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">France soon follows and the sun rises high overhead, I find a bakery in Luxembourg where I satisfy my hunger for pastries and fresh baguette, I’m not the first TCR rider to call in today and I’m sure I won’t be the last. Back on the road the air is thick with the sweet smell of oil seed rape as I pass between fields of the yellow flowers. Back into France and my route threads through sleepy villages</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">, I’m in need of water again but the few shops I pass are closed. I even try a tap on a house but it’s dry. Fortunately Germany isn’t far away and once into Germany near Saarbrucken I find a Turkish kebab place that’s open. I buy a coke but they don’t have water. “Haben sie eine grosse flasche wasser?” I manage after years of not speaking German. “Ein moment”, and the guy returns with a two litre bottle of water which he gives me. The kindness of strangers becomes a recurring theme.</span></div>
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<div>
By 3pm the miles are dragging, 35 degree heat coupled with sleep deprivation is taking its toll. My feet are hot and swollen, rubbing my shoes with every pedal stroke and saddle sores are starting to form. I need to rest. Better to rest for 30 minutes now than slow down for the rest of the day. A tree amidst a field of wheat provides shade and I lie down to close my eyes for ten minutes.
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<div>
Progress is slow even when I get going again, I decide on a hotel for the night, a wash and a decent meal should set me straight for tomorrow. By the time I stop I’ve only covered 236 miles in 21 hours. Inefficient. I am treated to two main courses by the lady running the hotel, she notices how I inhale the first plateful. Six hours sleep and fresh kit has me feeling a little more human for an early start, </div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FOF8rF8OMRJDKkaI0NnEKrHBFXqQ481vjO7ycy66t4drZRJ8ZCSJ6MKZNMh5QYMImPD9WVgGNvZ8KE4yQES2Ort7promhIwkjraaqSs2uA1K88mi49WSAODxkQro3b_wJKGvKNaZDNsk/s1600/IMG_3805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FOF8rF8OMRJDKkaI0NnEKrHBFXqQ481vjO7ycy66t4drZRJ8ZCSJ6MKZNMh5QYMImPD9WVgGNvZ8KE4yQES2Ort7promhIwkjraaqSs2uA1K88mi49WSAODxkQro3b_wJKGvKNaZDNsk/s400/IMG_3805.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Dawn on day 2 near Strasbourg</td></tr>
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<div>
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<div>
I'm off and away to Strasbourg by 0430. I feel great following the meanderings of a river along the bottom of a steep sided valley under tall pine trees in the dusky light of pre-dawn. One wrong turn and a sun rise later sees me spinning along a canal past fishermen and converted barges into Strasbourg for a breakfast of pastries and coffee.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUkpbKxXGmP7-xqW_Y77iiLmkzEBYK2WOjh6oW_flUzAD9tpqRVB3PdHORxw2MhCqYFVEVAQa8_e94xfzjnqORVu_T2NAvKyVyJ0xWv33LEu7lTSpXtAqQaIcdJCuY9g56KcIBtUyUZv4/s1600/IMG_3807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUkpbKxXGmP7-xqW_Y77iiLmkzEBYK2WOjh6oW_flUzAD9tpqRVB3PdHORxw2MhCqYFVEVAQa8_e94xfzjnqORVu_T2NAvKyVyJ0xWv33LEu7lTSpXtAqQaIcdJCuY9g56KcIBtUyUZv4/s1600/IMG_3807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUkpbKxXGmP7-xqW_Y77iiLmkzEBYK2WOjh6oW_flUzAD9tpqRVB3PdHORxw2MhCqYFVEVAQa8_e94xfzjnqORVu_T2NAvKyVyJ0xWv33LEu7lTSpXtAqQaIcdJCuY9g56KcIBtUyUZv4/s320/IMG_3807.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />
I don’t realise I’ve crossed the border into Germany until something tugs at my brain - riders waiting politely at a red light. That would never happen in France. Smooth cycle ways lead up a wide valley shadowing an autobahn into the Black Forest. Thick forested hillsides to both sides but I keep aiming southwest until it’s time to break away from the valley floor and climb up into the hills. It’s only a 600m climb but it’s the first proper climb of the ride. Its 15% ramps are endured through the torrent of sweat flowing from my head, but, despite the heat my legs feel better at the top than I did at the bottom. Within twenty miles I can see Bodensee, the gateway to Austria and CP1 (checkpoint 1). I cross the River Rhein at the mouth of the Zeller Zee into Switzerland, the roads are busy here with holiday makers and wealthy locals. I nearly end up on the bonnet of an Audi at a junction after looking the wrong way before crossing a side road, it’s a rude reminder that however fatigued I feel I need to stay alert. The inland sea of Bodensee<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> stretches away towards its hazy northern shores, my route follows the southern shore towards Dornbirn in Austria. I’ve run out of water but don’t have any Swiss currency so I put off buying water until Austria so avoid being lumbered with coins that I can’t use. I’ve also heard that Switzerland is expensive but this isn’t a very clever strategy, by the time I do make it into Austria it’s early evening and I’m so dehydrated that I drink a couple of litres within seconds of buying them, not to mention a can of coke and a coffee. I’m eager to make it to CP1 tonight so I press on as twilight falls. I’m excited to be in the Alps again but the mountain ridges above soon turn to silhouette and the temperature drops with sun. I’m slightly worried that I need some proper food and I don’t know if anything will be available at CP1 by the time I arrive. I buy a couple of emergency sandwiches at a filling station and spot another TCR rider coming past as I’m about to leave. His rear light is out so I chase him down to alert him, he’s near invisible in the darkness. He's aware and in normal circumstances I would lend him a light, but that isn’t allowed under race rules so all I can do is wish him well.</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbmo2N71tCtcXjPUO5Dzv1V5hs1ZKvlM2o4RLM899l565JfLd2c8zdKMBmLfufyDOQgpxC30hU6PQQCrPfcsl_3LvlHmjiS7temnMC0RiiwB5b2wF8NM-mliSrL0jMte5UTgB1SPXgRyVy/s1600/IMG_3816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbmo2N71tCtcXjPUO5Dzv1V5hs1ZKvlM2o4RLM899l565JfLd2c8zdKMBmLfufyDOQgpxC30hU6PQQCrPfcsl_3LvlHmjiS7temnMC0RiiwB5b2wF8NM-mliSrL0jMte5UTgB1SPXgRyVy/s320/IMG_3816.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I love the mountains, even at night. Isolated lights shine from high above marking the position of houses and huts. I pass the time imagining how those houses in the heavens are reached. Large alpine hotels line the road in each village and woodsmoke curls from the chimneys of timber houses. I pull over at a kebab house displaying a pizza menu outside. My pizza order is declined though, they’ve finished with pizzas for the night b</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">ut I can have a kebab. Veggie kebab it is then, I wrap it in foil and tuck it away on my rear pack for CP1, I don’t want to waste time eating now. A few kilometers later I see flashing red lights ahead, the first rider I’ve seen in 30km. I chase them down until I pass the rider on a climb where he shouts for me to get the beers in at CP1. How far away is CP1? I don’t know, but stopping to check the map will cost time so I plug on. I’m slightly surprised to ride round a corner 15 minutes later to see lights shining out through the floor to ceiling windows of a modern ski hotel bearing the name of the checkpoint hotel. That’s it! I’ve arrived. Inside Juliana Bühring greets me with a hug and I’m a bit overwhelmed by the number of people here after two days of near solitude. I’m the 39th rider to arrive, Brevet card stamped I eat my kebab and order two litres of sparkling water, I avoid the temptation of a beer knowing that one won’t be enough and it won’t help replace what feels like tens of litres of sweat lost on the road. I lay out my sleeping bag and bivvy on the hard concrete floor of the underground. Down jacket for a pillow I get a surprising amount of sleep despite being woken by a car during the night. I decide against my usual 4am start in favour of a large breakfast in preparation for the climb up to the Bielerhöhe Pass. Getting up at 7am seems decadent and many riders have already set off hoping to climb the parcours to the pass in the cool early morning air. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIozLitjn469hHVfgplh_jPrVMohzIrmKxWcUl2lbOXfyfGAAoCVPut28UPyN5JAo9-Xy-yY9cAgtXt4W4-kaCt76ZU9CxQlfyDJNNzj3l6RsBYqFTwjAws7yAwKpN7Lo95c3XOlIY1i3A/s1600/IMG_3819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIozLitjn469hHVfgplh_jPrVMohzIrmKxWcUl2lbOXfyfGAAoCVPut28UPyN5JAo9-Xy-yY9cAgtXt4W4-kaCt76ZU9CxQlfyDJNNzj3l6RsBYqFTwjAws7yAwKpN7Lo95c3XOlIY1i3A/s200/IMG_3819.jpg" style="border: 3px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 5px;" width="150" /></a></div>
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<div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I enjoy my breakfast but regret the lack of warmup before the climb to the Bielerhöhe kicks up to 10%, fortunately the views reward my breathless efforts. I peer skyward trying to work out where the road goes, various lines traverse the white limestone high peaks above. I pass a few other riders on the way up only for the same riders to get ahead at the summit, I waste time taking photos, admiring the snowy view and tweeting as they roll away. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP3PkgHXdZZMatEH7iKq3bQOjDKijOgWnESctYO6k1lIgZVTIfPZJaQ-bi3lYPhvjidynEeFexqBKpShPa2n713RXNbHWCJSWG1vYqGeQOQ8z_CFa3Xk1n7bKbn8d6_DGEOr_EU78TX6Ze/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.23.30.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="1044" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP3PkgHXdZZMatEH7iKq3bQOjDKijOgWnESctYO6k1lIgZVTIfPZJaQ-bi3lYPhvjidynEeFexqBKpShPa2n713RXNbHWCJSWG1vYqGeQOQ8z_CFa3Xk1n7bKbn8d6_DGEOr_EU78TX6Ze/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-11-09+at+16.23.30.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 1</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 2</td></tr>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-35251985089751999682018-07-10T10:55:00.001-07:002018-07-10T10:56:28.743-07:00A Welsh C2C - XDUROWales18 <div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
A sharp climb up a narrow lane flanked by rambling dry stone walls leads up to a basin over which old slate workings loom. Zigzag tracks scythe across the mountain side. Bikes are handed over a locked steel gate and the climb is on. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Menai Bridge start line</td></tr>
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This is the Racing Collective's XDUROWales18, nearly 200 miles of mixed terrain riding between the Menai Bridge and Cardiff waterfront. We'll take two days to complete it, that's if our bikes, backsides and tyres hold out. There's 1700 feet of climbing in the first ten miles today, this is looking like a decent challenge.</div>
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The pace of our small group is sociable enough and after 10 minutes or so we round a hairpin to a small terrace littered with blue slate from which we have a commanding view of Llanberis and the lakeside slate workings. I roll off down the descent and my 40mm tyres are soon throwing shards of slate out behind me creating a cracking sound, the temptation to speed over it is intoxicating. I hear a shout behind me, Nige Smith’s rear tyre is spewing sealant from a long rip in the sidewalk. We stop and fix it, the first casualty of many in our group. Tyres fixed and we descend towards the lake with considerably more care. From a viewpoint further down we stop to soak up the vista; Llanberis nestles beside the deep blue lake at the head of which a turret of abandoned Slate works sits to thevleft of the main road.<br />
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Riding with Nige we tick off Llanberis pass, the A5 and a hike-a-bike climb. We’re making good progress now and it’s not long before we pass the Centre for Alternative Technology on a quiet leafy lane that I recognise from my last visit here. We’ve dropped out of Snowdonia into mid-Wales but the climbs keep coming, the last of the day is the longest. Sharp kicks give way to false summits as I slowly head to wards the head of the horseshoe shaped valley . The road runs out and I drop down a brief descent to a forestry track along which a rally car is speeding towards me. Fortunately the track is wide enough for the car to slide past a leaving a trail of choking white dust. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR__lJbb63_qIKjquQeW7fuzyuI-10GfYhtb7v0CBGlcYUNu-pCo_WM6Ro_voSKHknIVub4RujZUsPE3anbpYzOIKRRRktnK5riLbF-bvqHgEd0mn3SBL0jeFt7IIlv9zwxoDzZ56eK2xM/s1600/xqNdWdpw.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR__lJbb63_qIKjquQeW7fuzyuI-10GfYhtb7v0CBGlcYUNu-pCo_WM6Ro_voSKHknIVub4RujZUsPE3anbpYzOIKRRRktnK5riLbF-bvqHgEd0mn3SBL0jeFt7IIlv9zwxoDzZ56eK2xM/s200/xqNdWdpw.jpeg" width="200" /></a>Emerging from the top of the forest the track undulates across high moorland to an isolated reservoir before dropping down to Daf’s farm where we’re bivvying tonight. He's a great host providing a hot shower, good food, a bottle of beer and a bonfire. The next morning he puts on an impressive breakfast spread of porridge, sausages and eggs. Just what we need to fuel another 8000 feet of climbing, much of it off-road. I notice more wildlife today, a young fox plays with its shadow ahead of us on a gravel climb whilst further on a red kite picks through a sheep carcass in a quarry for its breakfast. Two 4x4s are parked up miles from a road on a beach beside the Claerwen reservoir high in the Elan valley whilst their drivers fish in the deep blue water.</div>
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An energy sapping section of hike-a-bike soon follows, thirsty horse flies keep us moving over a lumpy watershed but we’re suffering in the heat. Sweat streams down my face on the climbs and I need to stop and re-hydrate by midday. We briefly escape the glare of the sun in a filling station but we can’t hide for long, it’s another 65 miles to Cardiff. Next stop Brecon town, but not before we’ve climbed a lengthy ramp up onto the MOD training grounds which mark the start of the Brecon Beacons. Miles ahead of us is a gap in the ridge through which we are soon climbing on the last timed segment of the day. It’s loose and rocky in places, my bike is thrown off line repeatedly as I wrestle the bars to keep it moving, the final ramp and hairpin are completed on foot. The descent to Merthyr Tydfil would be quick on a mountain bike but the loose rocks brake my progress, a ripped tyre here in the 30 degree heat would be more than inconvenient.
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Thats the last timed segment completed, it's pretty much downhill to Cardiff from here, we wind our way down the valley dodging the main road. This is the Welsh valleys, townships built around the mines that powered British industry for decades. Today kebab shops, salons and and bookies occupy the streets where butchers, grocers and bakers once kept the industrial machine moving. A former railway line leads us into Cardiff past swimmers in the river and couples soaking up the unusually hot sun in a park. Our north-south C2C is done; we've seen many different incarnations of Wales- the post industrial south reached via the mountains of Brecon, the rounded hills of mid Wales our reward for surviving the slate of Snowdonia. A proper journey and another land whose familiarity we've earned. </div>
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Thanks to @theracingcollective for photos, get involved at <a href="http://www.theracingcollective.com/">www.theracingcollective.com</a><br />
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-57073201150608691552018-06-28T05:23:00.001-07:002018-06-28T09:09:09.856-07:00GT 24 Take 2<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivp1bqlwl1V9Z-JMdHCYiJmmmWYqa7LHo9bLp3F1XASGiNedDAq8Z_9_FkPU2TEQtcrE8sWNED1VRkN2xhAtK6KyM25vzKgI2MzYYAojGgZCJOD44rwrDraeqeZlavdS_R8rgfQ4VgF162/s1600/IMG_3516.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivp1bqlwl1V9Z-JMdHCYiJmmmWYqa7LHo9bLp3F1XASGiNedDAq8Z_9_FkPU2TEQtcrE8sWNED1VRkN2xhAtK6KyM25vzKgI2MzYYAojGgZCJOD44rwrDraeqeZlavdS_R8rgfQ4VgF162/s200/IMG_3516.jpg" width="150" /></a>Unfinished business apparently, so I said back in 2016 after my <a href="https://gutsibikes.blogspot.com/2016/09/gt-24-west-highland-and-great-glen-way.html" target="_blank">last attempt</a> at the West Highland way and Great Glen Way in 24 hours (also known as the ‘GT 24’). That one was a joint attempt with Saul Muldoon and we rode south-north with some support. Tonight I was back on the 1811 from Glasgow Queen Street, bound for Inverness for the ride south to Glasgow via Fort William in the morning. This time there was no doubt in my mind, I knew it would be tough.</div>
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Unsurprisingly it's an early start at the SYHA where I bump into fellow riders Alistair and Tam. There’s only four of us at South Kessock and we soon split to ride our own pace. For once I haven’t got lost out of the start and the going is good, dry trails weave through picturesque young woodland.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrUZEsEcKckF0fkmc-TdaxK1oZwV-MUrzk800hFFNhyphenhyphenGx0Dg9p5Z_CiHktVnOPk-RTRP6l63G_G9-4G3YV7dMKn_6KqfzD27_-cQ5r9U1dShUfr_CvhV6sYyFF0aNbSm_zpx5UB7WlEN8C/s1600/IMG_3533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrUZEsEcKckF0fkmc-TdaxK1oZwV-MUrzk800hFFNhyphenhyphenGx0Dg9p5Z_CiHktVnOPk-RTRP6l63G_G9-4G3YV7dMKn_6KqfzD27_-cQ5r9U1dShUfr_CvhV6sYyFF0aNbSm_zpx5UB7WlEN8C/s200/IMG_3533.jpg" width="150" /></a>Scotland is bonny today; gorse in bloom, broom laden with seeds, and trees fresh with new growth. A headwind is the only factor against me in my quest to reach Fort Bill within seven hours. I mentally tick off what was ridden in reverse twenty months ago; steep climbs and rollercoaster gravel singletrack abound, the payback is miles of commanding views of the Great Glen. After Fort Augustus it's a slog into a stiff headwind to reach Fort Bill but eventually I round the Shinty stadium and pass old Inverlochy Castle to arrive at the end of the Great Glen Way. Garmin says 7 hours and 2 minutes since I left Inverness, a good start, now where’s the nearest chippy?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ne5RylExfMmgPdYuXeeuTf9nNtRbq7HTexinsscxYnK34c4RxcpSuSdeHGOIG4qeKWU620T5hFAqO_mkK9bH6mPgQuQd4lpzVGAC8KT7vQw1zjfdlBJ8JjFdih_D8ro0lFG-Q6DrKzS4/s1600/IMG_3535.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ne5RylExfMmgPdYuXeeuTf9nNtRbq7HTexinsscxYnK34c4RxcpSuSdeHGOIG4qeKWU620T5hFAqO_mkK9bH6mPgQuQd4lpzVGAC8KT7vQw1zjfdlBJ8JjFdih_D8ro0lFG-Q6DrKzS4/s200/IMG_3535.jpg" width="200" /></a>Only a ripped tyre sidewall slows me on the way to Kinlochleven, I fit an inner tube and hope that this will be the last puncture of the ride - I've only a single inner tube left. I meet the first runners racing the West Highland Way a few minutes after I get going again, absorbed by their epic struggle they pass in silence. Its a different story climbing the Devil’s Staircase, runners stop to chat or utter ‘respect!’ despite their exhaustion. They set off at 1am today, our challenges are equally ridiculous.<br />
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Arriving in Tyndrum by 9pm is a relief, a final chance for real food and a water refill. The wind has dropped and the midges are hungry, they keep my rest stop brief. An Aussie guy wearing a midge net asks if I'm winning, I think so.
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I'm into the last third, and the worst is yet to come. It's late dusk by the time I reach the shores of Loch Lomond and I'm starting to feel the fatigue. Its hard work handling a drop bar bike on the trail which is littered with steps, water bars and tight squeezes as it snakes along the steep wooded loch side. The moon reflects off the loch whilst the hill tops across the water look majestic from down here but the spectacle is marred by my fatigue. I walk more of the narrow trail than I should and that's before the real hike a bike section takes me into the darkest hours. Several crashes and the onset of exhaustion brake progress, a ten minute power nap helps but I curse the seemingly unnecessary climbs that just keep coming.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6r3PK_QLvDqOPRwutHryr-Q2OP8yWBe3vQBzqrgEK6itsMa0Wh4w10tAkZtR7US6WXAc7385WIqHUKKNoG0tj3YyeopRUm3OvN00uQ4tIJFby6EpNFUpaBOTNuBPXJjgOSWJ39tgnhYj4/s1600/IMG_3545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6r3PK_QLvDqOPRwutHryr-Q2OP8yWBe3vQBzqrgEK6itsMa0Wh4w10tAkZtR7US6WXAc7385WIqHUKKNoG0tj3YyeopRUm3OvN00uQ4tIJFby6EpNFUpaBOTNuBPXJjgOSWJ39tgnhYj4/s1600/IMG_3545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6r3PK_QLvDqOPRwutHryr-Q2OP8yWBe3vQBzqrgEK6itsMa0Wh4w10tAkZtR7US6WXAc7385WIqHUKKNoG0tj3YyeopRUm3OvN00uQ4tIJFby6EpNFUpaBOTNuBPXJjgOSWJ39tgnhYj4/s200/IMG_3545.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Finally it's just a sharp shove and a carry up Conic Hill to greet the rising sun before I plunge back down to the moorland at its foot in a blaze of squealing brakes and dust. I’m pretty exhausted now, I can’t get my heart rate much over 100 even on the brief hills, this is like a modern diesel car’s limp mode. As usual time is flying (or I’m stuck in slow-mo). At least I'm familiar with this section and the route does a lovely job of dodging Glaswegian suburbs in favour of riverside paths that spit me out right by the finish at the Riverside museum. Selfie and sleep. 25 hours 11minutes will do.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3B_3qnwjKrfwlEXWyCkQYZHa68nXF77RlYqgiOcY7j73wExhDx3tLGgzNyr5-Ke0di0VNaDVFYGyStSTv6-N_l5PQ6-eiMnSkqqKygCkOtlXmpbTXPoSbNCUp8UURzc103WN_Cp7nAMC-/s1600/IMG_3543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfJQWjiYguEj9epjV0TDGme3tGZRk3XKGMBv-mi6CF2jfgElOa2_VsdC1QKXhUl8pjUvtTmVg5HNkha7FzG9PoSAiVQD4pHVfI1to3nrRIGFxzs2kNnvhNqKjk4QByJ6QPRPqyJ06fXWE/s1600/IMG_3555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfJQWjiYguEj9epjV0TDGme3tGZRk3XKGMBv-mi6CF2jfgElOa2_VsdC1QKXhUl8pjUvtTmVg5HNkha7FzG9PoSAiVQD4pHVfI1to3nrRIGFxzs2kNnvhNqKjk4QByJ6QPRPqyJ06fXWE/s200/IMG_3555.jpg" width="150" /> <img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3B_3qnwjKrfwlEXWyCkQYZHa68nXF77RlYqgiOcY7j73wExhDx3tLGgzNyr5-Ke0di0VNaDVFYGyStSTv6-N_l5PQ6-eiMnSkqqKygCkOtlXmpbTXPoSbNCUp8UURzc103WN_Cp7nAMC-/s200/IMG_3543.jpg" width="150" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7_QDjUM8GiQwQSPJ24HgWzdBLVQ2c4fKEagWpvTVzh8Unp9vdyUoXjNqkHOHCdD33DMVaCPLIwZtbpBWiQshDH5Pj9-j-qbGGGZUKMs-a0ALm5fBQ2O18gqEQLZKtRhfrWNFsogykClS/s1600/IMG_3547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7_QDjUM8GiQwQSPJ24HgWzdBLVQ2c4fKEagWpvTVzh8Unp9vdyUoXjNqkHOHCdD33DMVaCPLIwZtbpBWiQshDH5Pj9-j-qbGGGZUKMs-a0ALm5fBQ2O18gqEQLZKtRhfrWNFsogykClS/s200/IMG_3547.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3YkQsCzzAGbB5xFMQsojZekIculpn3iQt-IKMbnDHBHQGsW66iTwE9n2F5MjJY_a2vNvQsN5Sub_Vrus0TrcygVERYStiRfTXKIqK0yPRArNndFp1k0i2l3Yy0jVo_ZtgH7uyTFbhlv-4/s1600/RiversideSelfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3YkQsCzzAGbB5xFMQsojZekIculpn3iQt-IKMbnDHBHQGsW66iTwE9n2F5MjJY_a2vNvQsN5Sub_Vrus0TrcygVERYStiRfTXKIqK0yPRArNndFp1k0i2l3Yy0jVo_ZtgH7uyTFbhlv-4/s320/RiversideSelfie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Stats
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176 miles</div>
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18437 feet climbing </div>
Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-49383812528439785732018-06-20T07:57:00.002-07:002018-06-21T09:17:21.929-07:00Dick’s 50 Climb Everest Challenge<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
If you always do the same thing, you’ll always get the same result. So the saying goes and there’s definitely some truth in it, after all we are naturally habitual in our behaviour. Year after year racing the same events and getting the same results if we are lucky, watching performance tail off if we are less lucky or motivated.
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This year I’m racing the Transcontinental Race (TCR); more than 2000 miles from Belgium to Greece and if training for that doesn't require some fresh thinking then I don’t know what does. The Racing Collective’s ‘Trans’ events have been great preparation; big rides which require strategic route planning much like the TCR. I’ve also been riding a single speed Kona Jake gravel bike and doing more races than normal in preparation but I still feel like I could be doing more.
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Early June arrives and I’m aware that I have only 6 weeks of useful training time left before I ride up The Muur in Geraardsbergen on the start of my race across Europe, this is my last chance to train. It’s time to step further out of that comfort zone.
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Leafing through my friend Dick’s book of 50 local climbs a few weeks ago had prompted me to plan a route linking them all together which with a few extra climbs would add up to an Everest (29030 feet of vertical ascent). The arrival of long summer days, anticipation of TCR and a free weekend conspired to force my hand.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-yezUk0505XTMzsjUPbalgkw6BW0pdsVgDC46UVfhF6SeTMqs6oRfgPVKaO7TaRttoNop9JxVn1nJD4_6GIupjuQOS80LnbTw2vJThBmivVDJ9nJW_P5ZEBMO0lm7-vlH2Dg7FWnnillh/s1600/IMG_3433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-yezUk0505XTMzsjUPbalgkw6BW0pdsVgDC46UVfhF6SeTMqs6oRfgPVKaO7TaRttoNop9JxVn1nJD4_6GIupjuQOS80LnbTw2vJThBmivVDJ9nJW_P5ZEBMO0lm7-vlH2Dg7FWnnillh/s200/IMG_3433.jpg" width="150" /></a>Up at 4am and out the door by 5, 14 year old son Arran joins me for the first few climbs and it’s good to be paced. Roads that are normally buzzing are deserted, Arran comments that it’s like we’re on holiday as we cruise past Crosland Moor golf club gazing at the golden afterglow of a summer sunrise to the east.
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">We tick off familiar pieces of tarmac; Deep Lane, Cowersley Lane, Varley Road, Hoyle Ing; Arran tires so I continue solo, I’m glad to tick off the 17%+ climbs at Marsden lane. My Cannondale Slate Force is making light work of these with its low climbing gear whilst fat slick tyres enable rapid descending, a welcome antidote to the relentless climbing. By midday I’m finished in the Colne Valley and can move on to the Holme Valley where climb number 1 is Castle Hill. Being focused on an Everest of ascent today makes my motivation a little different to normal. Usually miles are my indication of progress but today the more vertical ascent the better, extra climbs are welcomed, extra miles less so. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn_Doo6Sv_Bx6QNmKO4hL4NhfBL5lo8q5kqYLnq8rcpSbudQMPQjzy5SwDTMo772hbVDQbcR2wH6qXRU7nDYu_mrQkuHBbxyUk5n3QWxdsEHkK-HUMGCr7d5dKwUp45rGOLeCTQYlv5LK_/s1600/IMG_3453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn_Doo6Sv_Bx6QNmKO4hL4NhfBL5lo8q5kqYLnq8rcpSbudQMPQjzy5SwDTMo772hbVDQbcR2wH6qXRU7nDYu_mrQkuHBbxyUk5n3QWxdsEHkK-HUMGCr7d5dKwUp45rGOLeCTQYlv5LK_/s200/IMG_3453.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtULyD9l-RFlPOWioHS_jwzwXGw5l6AvLogvOnvVUwOKzwbi0rfiv3zkIsYgzcE5cWEXGyD0Ym4Cs2MG9eFpaLAuntHA1qBChpBGhKQxHw9pPUy0agiE3j-1C30SkjVrwK97aCigouTyF2/s1600/IMG_3438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtULyD9l-RFlPOWioHS_jwzwXGw5l6AvLogvOnvVUwOKzwbi0rfiv3zkIsYgzcE5cWEXGyD0Ym4Cs2MG9eFpaLAuntHA1qBChpBGhKQxHw9pPUy0agiE3j-1C30SkjVrwK97aCigouTyF2/s200/IMG_3438.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPesp2l5sskbipOxhSl1070oGvxUbfm4fuUijh10KKfLzymDG_OWRdDznDIFUHw2fgP2cwYiWT9KLDgiNzq-RhbfaMtBWaFJZlJ_WOHDe36VC4pnC8VYUln85EGViLfOiDdJA919fB2GeX/s1600/IMG_3459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPesp2l5sskbipOxhSl1070oGvxUbfm4fuUijh10KKfLzymDG_OWRdDznDIFUHw2fgP2cwYiWT9KLDgiNzq-RhbfaMtBWaFJZlJ_WOHDe36VC4pnC8VYUln85EGViLfOiDdJA919fB2GeX/s200/IMG_3459.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> </span> </div>
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Jen meets me in Hepworth and hands me sourdough sandwiches washed down by coffee, I’m feeling good riding on proper food today; pork pies, crisps and dates instead of endless bars. Gels don't get a look in either.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmmCrPlWbaqvhZDzC3mtv75ObWQc9Uasu2_VaJcP-s_ysmnOkR9FC40dnrl17bfSsZAb48Q-DMyWhTuflMFB3-lzE5TZ9Mb-uavo4gJIQgVCqdB4jG2HzE2Fu5dHZ5tbaW4sTPIWxn6yX/s1600/IMG_E3439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmmCrPlWbaqvhZDzC3mtv75ObWQc9Uasu2_VaJcP-s_ysmnOkR9FC40dnrl17bfSsZAb48Q-DMyWhTuflMFB3-lzE5TZ9Mb-uavo4gJIQgVCqdB4jG2HzE2Fu5dHZ5tbaW4sTPIWxn6yX/s200/IMG_E3439.jpg" width="150" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqv1V1I33G0AeTMylvr3ihxa9BzvXyaN0CF2e7h_4BJ3SXd2u_SrQl6dQHNv1uEm9qoEH41jt0Y0h4PIQZdCeq7P4n90FkGyZ0srz3_mJlx9fQzVEM8T7cHEAnWy1GKgy5z9UT7XVhv0pX/s1600/IMG_0672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqv1V1I33G0AeTMylvr3ihxa9BzvXyaN0CF2e7h_4BJ3SXd2u_SrQl6dQHNv1uEm9qoEH41jt0Y0h4PIQZdCeq7P4n90FkGyZ0srz3_mJlx9fQzVEM8T7cHEAnWy1GKgy5z9UT7XVhv0pX/s200/IMG_0672.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzDiolXVIK9LnR4eLdo0G34fq_84eQz4DibTIivL1xP7MZy8W_wEMR5udn1nVHraLcR2IATBohVQxFwghoJgt57ikcsKtznVSOD2Zsq1qNuNJ6c26ct6jFWs95496ueJrqiEPpx2diO78/s1600/IMG_E3440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzDiolXVIK9LnR4eLdo0G34fq_84eQz4DibTIivL1xP7MZy8W_wEMR5udn1nVHraLcR2IATBohVQxFwghoJgt57ikcsKtznVSOD2Zsq1qNuNJ6c26ct6jFWs95496ueJrqiEPpx2diO78/s200/IMG_E3440.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkvto8rEMpZL5fnLKHRYlwKhnk3Mge-Iuzoaio9UeHRnZEQF4fbKBgbTXNeNgXpBY9HALM9zUqoGfZ3bhj8_ys-2NKOJmvELFAkOUfrhlAnfmO0ExIUJHfQpsuL8jMwleWuSPp1U2FAeg/s1600/IMG_0674.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkvto8rEMpZL5fnLKHRYlwKhnk3Mge-Iuzoaio9UeHRnZEQF4fbKBgbTXNeNgXpBY9HALM9zUqoGfZ3bhj8_ys-2NKOJmvELFAkOUfrhlAnfmO0ExIUJHfQpsuL8jMwleWuSPp1U2FAeg/s200/IMG_0674.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">The day vanishes under my wheels and evening soon comes round, just another 10 climbs to go when a loud CRACK from my back wheel signals all is not well. Fortunately there’s a spare bike back at home which Jen meets me with in Holmbridge. Midges besiege us as we attempt to swap gear to the replacement bike and we soon retreat to the top of the next climb where a breeze saves us from being eaten alive.</span> </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Darkness draws in and the wind picks up, the climb to the Isle of Skye drags, this time of night is always tough. Everyone else is going home to warm cosy houses and I’m still counting down the last eight climbs. </span>Miry Lane is awarded the ‘bastard of them all’ award, its steep, slippery and gravel strewn surface is particularly unwelcome at 11pm after 18 hours. I take 5 minutes at the top to eat and enjoy the silence. </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Next up the last big one; Wessenden Head - 2.2 miles averaging 7.9% gradient, </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">fortunately I’ve ridden it in all conditions including thick cloud and snow so it feels fairly benign tonight</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">. One month ago I climbed this in 12 minutes and 17 seconds, tonight it takes an extra 10 minutes - good pacing is crucial today. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">The last steep one is ’The Knowle’ out of Meltham Mills, a 16% lung buster, luckily it’s short and I’m then into the last few. Somehow I missed Linfit Lane earlier so I have to drop back into Slaithwaite to tick that one off. The end is in within grasp as I climb up past the rusting carcasses of obsolete industrial machinery piled high at Scofield’s scrap yard. Just one last steady climb up Netherton Hill remains. I descend this last one, turn round at the bottom, and set off straight back up not stopping until I am above Blackmoorfoot Reservoir. How many feet? What’s left for an Everest? I press the light button on my Garmin and hurriedly press menu buttons to access the total elevation screen. 2, 9, 6, 7, 5!!! I’ve done it! No more climbs needed for an Everest! All I need to do is go home from here, I’m relieved that I don’t need to find extra ascent, it’s been a long day. A final effort up Scar Lane to home and I’m done. All I want to do is sit down.</span></div>
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I’m happy to finish that one, there’s useful endurance experience in today’s ride and it always feels good to tick another scary one off. Give it a day or two and I’ll come up with something to replace it with on the list of ‘not sure if this is doable’ challenges but for now I’ll enjoy doing absolutely nada.<br />
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A big thanks to Dick Facey for his book, Arran for riding the first ones with me and to Jen at <a href="http://www.velofondista.co.uk/" target="_blank">Velofondista</a> for bike prep and support on the day (top catering!).<br />
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-4603551995461632992018-06-08T11:16:00.000-07:002018-06-08T11:18:15.446-07:00Trans Scotland Trial 18<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Friday’s 1811 from Glasgow Queen Street was packed with commuters and tourists, glad to escape the city for a weekend of freedom. One ruddy faced man was making good progress on a four pack of strong lager with a red wine chaser. Luke and I had driven from Manchester looking forward to a weekend in the hills, but our idea of freedom was probably a little more extreme than that of our fellow travellers. We planned to ride more than 300 miles through Scotland on The Racing Collective’s TransScotland18 event. Sleep would be optional, an appetite for big miles was mandatory. For now though we had a three hour train journey north through the Highlands to enjoy. A couple of beers from Drygate Brewery were the perfect accompaniment. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UZqW2wdkSZB33aocJGne7lR2GRaXOk1ZWexNNZafjE2NFB1gc2DHBWpp9IGyuFwbox2rTYPzdifeSKgQWlYQpLKTGmOoTwaqnkSWHSCID4YpgYlTOr1SdQM6gLYxZdT7upnBhX49yrZj/s1600/IMG_1461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje8nDy1C9_LSd4k_eb-pKU7sz0e0B1yvs5LvtrpICO6EEUyqflmZwidCeuNA51SKbsouafMPQ5MjImrB0CW88Lb_8n0A0NHBynzRARLYl3Jlt59pMurLCJkIuvfkro-D73FbuTWXG1k8ca/s1600/IMG_3240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje8nDy1C9_LSd4k_eb-pKU7sz0e0B1yvs5LvtrpICO6EEUyqflmZwidCeuNA51SKbsouafMPQ5MjImrB0CW88Lb_8n0A0NHBynzRARLYl3Jlt59pMurLCJkIuvfkro-D73FbuTWXG1k8ca/s200/IMG_3240.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="150" /></a></span></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Down at the VeloCity Bike cafe on Saturday morning riders made nervous chatter, one hour to go before we would push ourselves to endure in search of new experiences, people and places. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UZqW2wdkSZB33aocJGne7lR2GRaXOk1ZWexNNZafjE2NFB1gc2DHBWpp9IGyuFwbox2rTYPzdifeSKgQWlYQpLKTGmOoTwaqnkSWHSCID4YpgYlTOr1SdQM6gLYxZdT7upnBhX49yrZj/s1600/IMG_1461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UZqW2wdkSZB33aocJGne7lR2GRaXOk1ZWexNNZafjE2NFB1gc2DHBWpp9IGyuFwbox2rTYPzdifeSKgQWlYQpLKTGmOoTwaqnkSWHSCID4YpgYlTOr1SdQM6gLYxZdT7upnBhX49yrZj/s200/IMG_1461.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I was the last one to leave the start at Inverness castle, I’d relaxed after hours of waiting so I was still tweeting my start photo as everyone else rolled out. I made some early routing errors as well which all contributed to a growing feeling of being way off the back of the pack. Still, plenty of time to sort it out I rationalised. </span></div>
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The A9 cycleway was a delight, sweet smelling gorse blooms overhung the old road which had long since been retired to cycleway and mile by mile I climbed towards the Cairngorm Massif.<br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I passed along quiet lanes through sleepy villages of bungalows and timber houses on my way to Tomintoul where I spotted fellow rider Nicky Shaw. She was in her own bubble listening to music and as I turned off at the end of the village she went left to follow the road to Braemar. My gravel shortcut would save me around 6 miles, but more importantly it would take me alongside the head waters of the river Avon up one of Scotlands quietest glens. No traffic, just bird calls and the rustle of water rushing in search of the sea. I was briefly held up by a grouse and it’s hatchlings as they ran along in front of me, I couldn’t see that happening on the A93</span></div>
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Tarmac, then singletrack and finally a steep Land Rover track took me to the highest point of my route at 2250 feet, from here a rollercoaster of a track dropped me through the Glen Livet estate and into CP1 at Braemar Castle. As I left CP1 I passed Nicky coming the other way, it was nice to see my ‘shortcut’ earn me a few minutes over the road route.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRR1g3xoZABtk3axOc1333kx8wPTHqEPUyLhyphenhyphenIgp_7aFJsDRoZ6jXh2HNLVWJHxjIDk6pUDTtOnaW-mnQjU8BRg0D66FJ7aYYZ6muJdfrj5UCZQe_RjcNb1bUofRbAIwWXzZjRdC8QGAky/s1600/IMG_3266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRR1g3xoZABtk3axOc1333kx8wPTHqEPUyLhyphenhyphenIgp_7aFJsDRoZ6jXh2HNLVWJHxjIDk6pUDTtOnaW-mnQjU8BRg0D66FJ7aYYZ6muJdfrj5UCZQe_RjcNb1bUofRbAIwWXzZjRdC8QGAky/s200/IMG_3266.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqAbEEBaDnxnCkM2rNMmDGgfZu_YpuBEJ_crQxYeAPjiF6lnA2DsDsCpwgTGp5eOYk5s3Lmk1Vzr4oXXY76oDBm-5Danxwcrs_2xf68kvxtLXGFbjNBhaF8dfsJDkp59XipffeZPLZxk8/s1600/IMG_3281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqAbEEBaDnxnCkM2rNMmDGgfZu_YpuBEJ_crQxYeAPjiF6lnA2DsDsCpwgTGp5eOYk5s3Lmk1Vzr4oXXY76oDBm-5Danxwcrs_2xf68kvxtLXGFbjNBhaF8dfsJDkp59XipffeZPLZxk8/s200/IMG_3281.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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A late lunch sheltering from the rain under an archway and I pressed on to the Linn of Dee for my second off road shortcut. I couldn’t remember the last time I'd welcomed rain in the Highlands but today it was a welcome respite from the morning’s humid conditions. Once again tarmac gave way to gravel and finally vague single track over the watershed into Glen Feshie. Fortunately I’d ridden this section last year so I had a good idea where the track went but it was definitely more of a challenge this time on a loaded gravel bike.</div>
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Steady on the descent in the hope of avoiding time consuming punctures and the steep sides of Glen Feshie enveloped me. Highland woodland was waking up from a long winter and rowan, broom and gorse were all boasting spring growth. I waded the river crossings with my bike on my back, I’d learnt the hard way that dynamo bearings do not like being submerged. After my third crossing of the River Feshie I found smooth new tarmac to lead me back to Feshie Bridge, what an unexpected result! In no time I was heading towards Glen Spean feeling like I’d saved some serious time. </div>
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Loud country music could be heard from the hotel in Newtonmore where locals were enjoying the May sunshine over a few pints of Tennants. Down the road I noticed that my nav phone (spare iPhone running Komoot) had stopped charging from my dynamo. A broken phone charge lead was bad news at this point, I memorised the remaining checkpoint locations and hoped for the best. At least my dynamo powered lights were working OK.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItCdNJkLefJnIHE5mHWVokJbZXkaWhlwV0pHnzeek74llIOf5rWswNjmMP1t94vl56TflcmozbAGFxaVhYoK-95ZQYQT0kPaLUoDGZGEf0yttQ1ow6q-E2wT5MiUB58KAgKZLYQuIsVI3/s1600/IMG_3310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItCdNJkLefJnIHE5mHWVokJbZXkaWhlwV0pHnzeek74llIOf5rWswNjmMP1t94vl56TflcmozbAGFxaVhYoK-95ZQYQT0kPaLUoDGZGEf0yttQ1ow6q-E2wT5MiUB58KAgKZLYQuIsVI3/s320/IMG_3310.jpg" width="320" /></a>Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, and Chris Pitbaldo swept past me as I sorted my bags in a midge filled layby near Loch Laggan. I rode off and kept him in view for a few minutes but he was soon out of reach. My gravel tyres were no match for his fast wheels and slick tyres, I reminded myself to ride my own race.</div>
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Fort William offered up a phone cable from a service station, I was excited to be able to run maps on my phone again. Glen Coe and Rannoch Moor by night were spectacular. The road was near deserted and there was enough light in the west of the sky to make out the mighty Aonach Eagach ridge to my left and the distinctive cone of Buachaille Etive Mor to my right. The lochans at Black Mount reflected the midnight sky and I felt privileged to have this place to myself. Well, nearly - Chris was a couple of miles ahead and I gradually chased him down Glen Orchy and through the clouds of midges alongside Loch Awe until I caught him on a rolling A road just outside Inveraray. Just in time to share photo duties at CP3 and roll on towards the the Clyde ferries. We agreed we were in no hurry with more than three hours in hand to cover the forty miles to the Hunter’s Quay ferry, but we still arrived early at 0545 after a couple of hours peering through the midge and mizzle laden air.
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At Hunter’s Quay I laid down on the tarmac and closed my eyes for a while only to be woken by the ticking of a freewheel. Iain rolled in, he’d been twenty minutes behind us for hours and now we were on for a sprint finish once we landed in Dunoon. I had no appetite for racing the last twenty or so miles and I left Iain and Chris to fight it out on their road bikes after CP4. I rolled into the finish 19 minutes after Iain took the winner’s title. Chris and Iain were there waiting and after photos we enjoyed a well earned al fresco breakfast nearby.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMRfeKGbJu4LoQev1ioCUk59im66n-tQccaj-rkIlrTpQH1-hs_Zgy5ckTF5la8oLVpyIC5oESJ5wbF6gjxPAzmeJLZUCoupLnTo-rq1QLimLJsPeXRPQAlpkAz-1d78nL4s-EdwWM6ZuJ/s1600/IMG_3314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="606" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMRfeKGbJu4LoQev1ioCUk59im66n-tQccaj-rkIlrTpQH1-hs_Zgy5ckTF5la8oLVpyIC5oESJ5wbF6gjxPAzmeJLZUCoupLnTo-rq1QLimLJsPeXRPQAlpkAz-1d78nL4s-EdwWM6ZuJ/s200/IMG_3314.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKc1dHhsB8OP5eq6QezarjQ1YLjLxEbQPLsqnKttQPFTq-qspVDYoHDzc469V0_3phj_7hGeuN3pXDJbHjZ_EhEl3LTf8r9WdJseNElmTGoQ6KXkidg-Dvn_i9mjCD-BPnQtKgxvi3KK4/s1600/IMG_3319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="606" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKc1dHhsB8OP5eq6QezarjQ1YLjLxEbQPLsqnKttQPFTq-qspVDYoHDzc469V0_3phj_7hGeuN3pXDJbHjZ_EhEl3LTf8r9WdJseNElmTGoQ6KXkidg-Dvn_i9mjCD-BPnQtKgxvi3KK4/s200/IMG_3319.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYtdUS7N8eHsLVqlJfe2WgSKKxF-qP9TEPvBmyqWiiASxAyeKWHheVezuFUhpmJFp8FT6sKd6uUBg9upDnVp1oeTllyyigcNII5GhCb42D0M4ipdmwyQgW7uy7kAG-j7AKqYa46CX0r2w7/s1600/IMG_3322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYtdUS7N8eHsLVqlJfe2WgSKKxF-qP9TEPvBmyqWiiASxAyeKWHheVezuFUhpmJFp8FT6sKd6uUBg9upDnVp1oeTllyyigcNII5GhCb42D0M4ipdmwyQgW7uy7kAG-j7AKqYa46CX0r2w7/s200/IMG_3322.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuOmbsg5i3Wlne5XXcjIIovVPuDD0XDE0p_Tus_Huar4r67856hjIbzn_btV1hPIVDqf3JMzm509QZzyZc6bu6tu_A3kDMOgr3x0h-dK21HUIjE-lv4Kks5UueuftQJGYULwFSJ5KSh96R/s1600/IMG_3326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuOmbsg5i3Wlne5XXcjIIovVPuDD0XDE0p_Tus_Huar4r67856hjIbzn_btV1hPIVDqf3JMzm509QZzyZc6bu6tu_A3kDMOgr3x0h-dK21HUIjE-lv4Kks5UueuftQJGYULwFSJ5KSh96R/s320/IMG_3326.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Finish</td></tr>
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Riding many of my favourite bits of Scotland within 24 hours had been a special experience, now how am I going to better that? Maybe a little ride to Greece will do the trick...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEnepoAPAVJcGE9jADLKt3ayCbtE7GAYHBlMYJZkv5viqiziflYWAx_7H5pSEsIsfesm6tbNeKd7pLTBJf8BZ0kKERPub4x83nhR69sYaLC5bLEwpyh6CCf17nbCJrEK3FScXuwKeQhVz/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-06-04+at+11.50.32.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="634" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEnepoAPAVJcGE9jADLKt3ayCbtE7GAYHBlMYJZkv5viqiziflYWAx_7H5pSEsIsfesm6tbNeKd7pLTBJf8BZ0kKERPub4x83nhR69sYaLC5bLEwpyh6CCf17nbCJrEK3FScXuwKeQhVz/s400/Screen+Shot+2018-06-04+at+11.50.32.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Stats</h3>
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<ul>
<li>304 miles</li>
<li>12,927 ft climbing</li>
<li>21h 39m moving time</li>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-72200376569126290822018-06-06T10:34:00.001-07:002018-06-06T10:35:03.324-07:00In a Funk to the Pirates Ball<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
I had my doubts before I set off on a 195 mile ride south east to headline Maui Waui’s Pirates’ Ball with my band 'Klonk'. Two weeks previously I’d crashed out of my first proper mountain bike race loosing both wheels on a fast right hander. Lying winded and bleeding across the track it hadn’t occurred to me that it might take weeks to recover. It was now two weeks later and I'd already missed The Racing Collective’s Trans Wales event so I was determined to get a decent ride in, hence heading south today.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJb6l-dL_hExbFeXtdzngLEhkXCD7yuUngGZijWPYQ-ugl-DQyPYGqpzydnWayafVFqEnOGtficlm7H3QaU3DuLE7LwedV96KpOU5UMSUuBexixC_y-c5Cxdcn_DrF_8eIrqI84OlNevIt/s1600/IMG_2874.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJb6l-dL_hExbFeXtdzngLEhkXCD7yuUngGZijWPYQ-ugl-DQyPYGqpzydnWayafVFqEnOGtficlm7H3QaU3DuLE7LwedV96KpOU5UMSUuBexixC_y-c5Cxdcn_DrF_8eIrqI84OlNevIt/s200/IMG_2874.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_VbfavK4O8fJkHtJ5FocVB2k-yvgWjc4Gs_IbTHpR2BUK09aoTNHNfbzkr0DuVojHdJHxb4OR_rVU3qg1i3JCYg6BfPJVchuWGeYwxHuqXY093rHGFhHChEJ8pTkl5I8l4o7n-jAOY7j/s1600/IMG_2881.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_VbfavK4O8fJkHtJ5FocVB2k-yvgWjc4Gs_IbTHpR2BUK09aoTNHNfbzkr0DuVojHdJHxb4OR_rVU3qg1i3JCYg6BfPJVchuWGeYwxHuqXY093rHGFhHChEJ8pTkl5I8l4o7n-jAOY7j/s200/IMG_2881.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AZN5GeA9PD0Ev4kqlUn0g-SProRvkkshMXlIEKonfRN1hz9mOyjNkRvbW2BUwgRTmyhBd_d62dgyap2k8CTNpZ5NfLlcUhDexy7vAPev9k7q_c7EMGevtGY2Uh8cIIOQFmZwHVCMXEBG/s1600/IMG_2884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AZN5GeA9PD0Ev4kqlUn0g-SProRvkkshMXlIEKonfRN1hz9mOyjNkRvbW2BUwgRTmyhBd_d62dgyap2k8CTNpZ5NfLlcUhDexy7vAPev9k7q_c7EMGevtGY2Uh8cIIOQFmZwHVCMXEBG/s200/IMG_2884.jpg" width="150" /></a>Jen had prepared my bike with a new crankset and fast tubeless Formula Pro tyres, I was all set for Friday morning. The weather forecast promised a southerly headwind for later in the day so I was keen to get as many miles covered before the wind picked up. Once through Barnsley's rush hour and out past Rotherham I cruised past blossoming fields of oil seed rape and through Sherwood forest under blue skies. The wind strengthened and I dropped low on the aero bars to cheat its pace robbing intentions. Newark was gridlocked by roadworks, I cruised past the last two hundred cars that had passed me, my Hope freewheel an irritating reminder of progress to the motionless drivers. East of Newark I was dumped onto the A47 by routing app Komoot. Selecting ‘road cycling’ as my route type meant mixing it up with every lorry bound for East Anglia from the A1. Riding for hours with an injured back against a 15mph headwind whilst HGVs pass within centimetres of your elbow requires particular endurance skills that I haven’t yet mastered. This experience turned my mind to the TCR (Trans Continental Race) that I’m riding later this year. What if riding across Europe was like this? Had I committed to 14 days of this purgatory? Why? What was the point? What would the TCR prove? </div>
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Big questions and yet no answers, despite the hours passing. Normally long rides are THE place to answer big questions but today they eluded me. A flat tyre in Kings Lynn and the featureless Fens did nothing to buoy me up and the pace suffered as I kept finding reasons to stop.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiGx7OtvGPLterxbQ0yVzVQmjgAeUGZZ6bULur6Tx8OT4dzK6l15VXbfRXuynUuaiBl9PYyUXrTEIQo6WlkuXDXYlC73m6kC4mWltHusxH0d18K_AUsXvJJGbu5T-ZjQ_n8pUsfmFOzkt/s1600/IMG_2889.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiGx7OtvGPLterxbQ0yVzVQmjgAeUGZZ6bULur6Tx8OT4dzK6l15VXbfRXuynUuaiBl9PYyUXrTEIQo6WlkuXDXYlC73m6kC4mWltHusxH0d18K_AUsXvJJGbu5T-ZjQ_n8pUsfmFOzkt/s200/IMG_2889.jpg" width="200" /></a>Nearing the Suffolk coast I was at least riding on scenic lanes but I was still counting down the miles to my destination, I was not enjoying the ride.
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I ditched my plan to ride home on Sunday, I did not want to ride another mile of the A47 and I didn't want to slow my recovery so I took the offer of a lift from bandmate Tom.
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<img border="0" data-original-height="884" data-original-width="1056" height="532" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh21jNsvSM3yxNC4FKyH7A5f8B9lC1KXUKjVMopG_HKe_2-3SS2qVUq9zc1IRoGaqFHwi5yKWzKyrT7sO8ouTyBIEo8WZHkNJPsycVWT7M7AbExzjfgp8bHeyJMMbN7gMsEUOFhT3D1f18v/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-06-06+at+18.25.03.png" width="640" /><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
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Reflecting the following week I realised that I'd have to pay closer attention to my routing in future and given the choice I should take shorter mountain routes over longer flat alternatives. The TCR is a once in a lifetime opportunity to test yourself and overcome all adversity, and that includes training rides. Bring on the next one...</span><span style="color: black;"> </span></div>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-33737699826012243152018-04-18T10:27:00.002-07:002018-04-19T10:16:01.719-07:00Battle on the Beach 2018 <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrow2m9LOppc1aiQ9U1OTGSahaxE3q_G0H-A-npm30O2BKh5snhySXXPVaLAYt5OuGSTe2jPDuM2o7dkpm-yZ81QcgBUEXXO0cqsF-bkYabI_RHx1Q464rP00ci5ba9du9FxdP_DtS4LZx/s1600/Startline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrow2m9LOppc1aiQ9U1OTGSahaxE3q_G0H-A-npm30O2BKh5snhySXXPVaLAYt5OuGSTe2jPDuM2o7dkpm-yZ81QcgBUEXXO0cqsF-bkYabI_RHx1Q464rP00ci5ba9du9FxdP_DtS4LZx/s320/Startline.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start line photo by San Kapil</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">WAAHHH!</span> </div>
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That’ll be the start then. </div>
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Nearly 1000 riders running, shoving, carrying and slewing through the soft sand. My third year racing single speed and the single speed title to defend. A strong breeze blows from the south east up the beach, pushing the geared riders to speeds that a roadie would be proud of. I spin the cranks on my Kona Private Jake at dizzying velocity and glance at my watch to check heart rate, it's well into the red. Hordes of geared riders stream past me at speeds I cannot hope to match. Keep the cadence up and catch them on the single track. The headwind on the return is welcome, it slows the geared riders and I plough up the middle through the tufty grass on the double track to make up places lost on the beach.</div>
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<h3>
Lap 2
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMojIppbT9A9XLPPIba_r1BujiYye2Sdi15J7s_kSwkU06AwB8GvJc_Fyox7Zz0rgrtukJ63o8cccN0GL5NBsskGA5BTKg4DeFoCb7slDDBhpdDksNMvk1hjs26nUrrsYk63zCLBk3wM4/s1600/Strava.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMojIppbT9A9XLPPIba_r1BujiYye2Sdi15J7s_kSwkU06AwB8GvJc_Fyox7Zz0rgrtukJ63o8cccN0GL5NBsskGA5BTKg4DeFoCb7slDDBhpdDksNMvk1hjs26nUrrsYk63zCLBk3wM4/s320/Strava.jpg" width="180" /></a>I sprint for the cameras through the start/finish and with the sea on my left, head along the beach. A geared <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">rider who I recently passed on a single track section mocks me and a couple of other riders because he is now going faster. Well done mate. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">With the exception of this poor soul the atmosphere and other riders are fantastic, my son Arran gets a tow down the beach from a rider who spots</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> him spinning
away on his singlespeed and shouts 'get on my wheel!' It's riders like that who keep us making the pilgrimage from Yorkshire each year. That along with the impeccable organisation by ACycling makes this event one of the few that we return to year after year.</span></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"></span></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Half way down the 10k expanse of beach I become aware of a strange calm. No rumbling fat bike tyres, no shouting riders and no wind noise; just a silent 130 RPM maelstrom of legs and cranks</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">, spring sun, waves crashing. Blissful focus, lost in the moment. </span></div>
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<h3>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Lap 3</span></h3>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Both wheels slide on the tarmac start finish straight adding more adrenaline to the already unaccustomedly high levels coursing through my veins. I lap a few steadier riders before descending on to the beach for the last time. Nearly there, don't give up yet I remind myself. Within sight of the MOD tower at the end of the beach I grab the rear most wheel of a threesome who are making better progress than me. Running through soft sand to exit the beach I thank the lead rider for the tow and get on with the serious job of picking more riders off. There's more space now and I can maintain a better pace on the return to the finish. I pick a few more riders off and peer through the trees hoping to see tents, a sign that the finish is near. Only a few more minutes and I hear the rumble of drums, the last few hundred metres of singletrack and I sprint </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">to the finish line </span>past one more rider. Done. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Just over a minute behind the winning single speeder, but quicker than last year and good training to boot. Now when's my next race? I think I enjoyed that.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1eGu8E_2VKBtgK-g3UyMt76gf1DphUXIMSv7u_AiA5ZQPmurAPyI3hUva2MdHXL8W8USal_MqHKQ7eIqjXOpt-0dlXADd0ZrlX2kZlZgKY4QuG0bJPk3YeidtlKTWWhUShBAh_iXurY2/s1600/BOTBPeasePhotos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="925" data-original-width="1205" height="489" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1eGu8E_2VKBtgK-g3UyMt76gf1DphUXIMSv7u_AiA5ZQPmurAPyI3hUva2MdHXL8W8USal_MqHKQ7eIqjXOpt-0dlXADd0ZrlX2kZlZgKY4QuG0bJPk3YeidtlKTWWhUShBAh_iXurY2/s640/BOTBPeasePhotos.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Occasionally I get my race on</td></tr>
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Gear:</h3>
Kona Private Jake Singlespeed running 44T x 19T<br />
Hunt 4 Season Gravel Wheels shod with Schwalbe 38mm G-One Bite tubeless tyres<br />
Genetic bars<br />
TRP Hylex brakes<br />
SRAM Force cranks <br />
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0Pembrey, UK51.691573000000012 -4.286182999999937251.612837500000012 -4.4475444999999372 51.770308500000013 -4.1248214999999373tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-71445336465629483622018-02-05T10:26:00.001-08:002019-02-05T08:42:28.549-08:00The Fugly<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
Tsss-tssssss—tss-tssss—tsss-TSSS. Slick tyres hiss across glistening tarmac, volume modulated by each revolution of the salt encrusted cranks, cranks salvaged from a bike which long since succumbed to years of winter abuse. Will the Lemond be next to fail, to be sacrificed? The contented whirr of singlespeed chain over a single 52 tooth chainring suggests not. This bastard of a machine purrs in tune with rider and the Pennine moors which tonight are happy to give up their moonlight vistas to this traveller. Few venture this way in darkness, the nearby M62 is faster, straighter and lit by night leaving the old road to those who seek solitude.<br />
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I ride this way partly for pleasure and partly for duty, the pleasure of the moors by night and a duty to prepare for this year’s adventures. Those adventures may unfold a thousand miles from the peat bog and heather moorland of the south Pennines but without this preparation they’d be wasted on me. Climbing hairpins through wildflower meadows under limestone peaks to the random clatter of cowbells; it all starts here on my starlit January commute.
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This bike is a true bastard, a secondhand cyclocross frame persuaded to singlespeed by a pair of £10 steel track dropouts welded to broken chainstays. Wheels from a retired road bike, pannier rack from an old commuter and brown mudguards bought in a sale. The bastard is known as the Fugly, descriptive if uninspired. It’s the cheapest and simplest of the bikes in my shed and in winter I reach for it frequently. Rolling down Pennine valleys the steel 853 frame soaks up the ripples in the pock marked tarmac and on climbs it takes on a life of its own. Every pedal stroke distorts the frame inciting it to fight back until we reach a harmonic rhythm that’ll see us both up most gradients.
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Sometimes it’s necessary to employ a bit of mind control. 1-2, 1-2-3, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5-6, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 I count; each revolution of those crusty Dura Ace cranks tallied until the top is reached. Sometimes I imagine a pair of legs doing the climbing, separated from my torso and suffering in isolation. The usual brain cluttering questions of gear choice, effort and cadence are satisfyingly absent. Hills are to be climbed, the Fugly’s 85 inch gear will dictate progress. I don’t question how, if, or why. I may be forced out of the leather saddle to keep those cranks turning, but I know that I will reach the top. </div>
Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-75325656581789107142018-01-08T05:00:00.001-08:002018-01-23T01:01:42.449-08:00Mallorcan Winter Miles<div style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">Jen and I escaped to Mallorca in late November in search of warmer air and dry roads. It was warmer but damp mountain roads kept speeds down through the twisties. We rode most days and what follows describes a couple of those rides.</span></div>
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Sunday</h3>
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Trip to the lighthouse? Looks like a pleasant afternoon ride with Jen. Our first ride on hire bikes this week. The skies are grey, laden with winter rain but we are full of the optimism of Brits abroad and the weather is still better than back home. The road twists through 180 degrees enough times for me to lose track of which way is north. A few tourists emerge from hire cars at the lighthouse to point at the wild goats and peer through the mist to see the waves breaking on the rocks below. We spin our way back to the calm of Port de Pollença to beat the setting sun.</div>
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Tuesday - 225 Day</h3>
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I glimpse another flash of yellow on white stone at the road side, one less km to ride, one more completed on the tarmac rollercoaster that I’ve been tracing since 9am this morning.
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Reaching marker stone 95 represents several hours of hard riding over the highest roads Mallorca has to offer, out past the top of the Sa Calobra climb then skirt a half empty reservoir to switchbacks under Puig Major’s summit culminating in a tunnel that spat me out to the best sea views I can remember. Views may warm your heart but they do nothing for frozen digits. Must get down to sea level, warm air and sunshine.<br />
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I roll off down more than 15km of deserted descent to Soller. The corners are sweeping but polished and since loosing the front wheel of my hire bike on a left hander yesterday I’m cornering super cautiously. Bruce at cycle shop Pro Hire back in Port De Pollença warned me about these roads; 'like ice' when damp, and today they are damp and cold.
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From the village of Soller the MA 10 twists south west carving a tortuous path between mountain and sea, snaking inland to cross rivers and seaward to cling to cliff tops. I even pass the turn off to Shangri-la, pity I‘m short of time today, sounds intriguing. A<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">ll the while those marker stones are counting progress, perhaps they should also tot up metres climbed; GPS app Komoot has me forewarned - nearly 4000m to do today. That’s going to hurt. Fortunately the views north over the Mediterranean are impressive enough to take your mind off mere mile ticking and the further south west the road winds, the quieter the road and the more dramatic the views. During the last twenty miles towards the southernmost tip of my route I only see two cars. This is where the M-10 is at its most dramatic; clinging to the side of a 45 degree slope that rushes away to my right to meet the sea several hundred metres below. Clumps of pampas grass shelter between the boulders on the hill above, dwarfed by the </span>towering limestone peaks above.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHaKHZFWR06F8F0ZB6qTFzvaXkdSyocByOUJr-I-gCMJu4Zvhz3ZLMrpyRZKvFKTIVY90Nh4UOJgpqtJNz1e7UxyUi-XkLE8dl1S2_akmYy7us9Jy4hS8V4zhqJMrrwWwCJGXbNyC86bDV/s1600/IMG_1484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: 18.72px; font-weight: 700; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHaKHZFWR06F8F0ZB6qTFzvaXkdSyocByOUJr-I-gCMJu4Zvhz3ZLMrpyRZKvFKTIVY90Nh4UOJgpqtJNz1e7UxyUi-XkLE8dl1S2_akmYy7us9Jy4hS8V4zhqJMrrwWwCJGXbNyC86bDV/s320/IMG_1484.JPG" width="320" /></a>Eventually the mountains make way for the road to turn south, it climbs switchback by switchback to a col that marks the halfway mark for today’s route. The long descent is my first opportunity to rest in over an hour but the respite is short lived. Two more cols beckon, neither large but still several hundred metres of climbing each. Waning spirits signal food is required, fortunately there's a shop open in the next village; fresh water, chocolate and a croissant return some enthusiasm to ‘La tête et les jambes’.
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The final col is slow going, tight switchbacks climbing through dense woodland. The road is singletrack, damp, slippery and green with lichen from lack of use. I'm starting to wonder whether I'm still on route, surely I should have left the mountains by now?
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXrTNNNfpDeh9xrWp7LNHoMhNUn85qjaGUgJUB87zksww_jmjDRsnRxdQU7Ek1YvGqFj5opSAD9vlzpDJjnDY9EpeEVIHelDO4RaPcKwgk62cip9jtvseLMuY3fN51ir-L80F-F_4PiPbY/s1600/IMG_1517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: 18.72px; font-weight: 700; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXrTNNNfpDeh9xrWp7LNHoMhNUn85qjaGUgJUB87zksww_jmjDRsnRxdQU7Ek1YvGqFj5opSAD9vlzpDJjnDY9EpeEVIHelDO4RaPcKwgk62cip9jtvseLMuY3fN51ir-L80F-F_4PiPbY/s320/IMG_1517.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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A few miles later the route does leave the mountains and I pick up a tail wind that I can surf all the way back to Port de Pollença. The sun is dropping low in the sky now, the Mediterranean landscape reflecting a thousand points of light following a rain shower. Verdant grass, purple flowers and deep blue sky, so much colour compared to November in Yorkshire. The north east coast of Mallorca is close as the sun drops under the horizon, the lights of Port de Pollença beckon, soon reached via the smooth cycle path from Alcudia. </div>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-6832068241188304822017-10-31T12:19:00.000-07:002017-10-31T13:53:26.980-07:00Coast 2 Coasting with Arran<div style="-en-clipboard: true;">
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Enthusiasm for leaving the van was in short supply in Whitehaven, waves crashed on to the sea defences, the air was heavy with sea spray and in all directions; grey. A hundred shades of British maritime grey colouring the sea, the harbour, the houses and the hills.
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Instagrams snapped and we were off towards the town centre through the thick mizzle. Soon we were eastbound on narrow roads, impatient Saturday morning traffic backed up behind and pace pushed beyond sensible. The greenways toward Cleator Moor were a haven of tranquility by comparison and we were soon well on our way towards Whinlatter Forest. We enjoyed lunch at Whinlatter trail centre with a dessert of smooth road descent into Keswick. The old railway line to Threlkeld from Keswick had unfortunately been terminated by bridges washed out in the storms of 2016 so we retraced our tyre tracks back toward Keswick and climbed up to Castlerigg Stone Circle. From here we stuck to the road and became progressively wetter and colder until we were forced to find a cafe in Penrith, somewhere to coax dangerously cold digits back to mobility. Arran sat on my back wheel along gently meandering lanes for the last 15 miles to Kings Meaburn. Day 1 was done.</div>
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We both slept the sleep of the dead before rising for a cooked breakfast and a tail wind assisted spin to Kirby Stephen on quiet back lanes. The climb to the head of Swaledale tested Arran but was worth it for the miles of undulating tarmac that followed, threading down the valley towards Muker. An off road diversion had our <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">G-One tyres fighting for grip as we climbing on saturated close cropped grass. From Muker we struck gravel bike gold, a limestone coloured ribbon of </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">fast, winding trail following the River Swale to Reeth. Smiles all round.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIJej0PhaBv2z9KRJ64QRqJhVxJyvXXIO2UyfLYCDk0mJn-LQmq3BIbZXHUDfNcsw_exgVNot2HiVeOqZ-gT9GBJ8QAJS0sxDZI8F2oBiLKkhCzmpZ71ks24c5ITRP5xvTUWAeSnbP6Xa/s1600/7516807376_IMG_1603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIJej0PhaBv2z9KRJ64QRqJhVxJyvXXIO2UyfLYCDk0mJn-LQmq3BIbZXHUDfNcsw_exgVNot2HiVeOqZ-gT9GBJ8QAJS0sxDZI8F2oBiLKkhCzmpZ71ks24c5ITRP5xvTUWAeSnbP6Xa/s200/7516807376_IMG_1603.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Lunch at The Dales Bike Centre refuelled energy reserves for the road climb to Richmond and subsequent meander towards Northallerton. We followed the river Swale intermittently, skirting deep gravel pits, fighting our way across muddy fields with fully laden bikes. Komoot had come up with some great trails and lanes for this section (excepting the section after Northallerton where we were routed through a graveyard and in to an unrideable quagmire). Late afternoon sun lit up autumn leaves in a fiesta of red, orange and yellow as we cruised towards Osmotherley. Arran agreed, definitely a better day than yesterday. </span>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">The Osmotherley Youth Hostel was quiet and had a drying room; result! We enjoyed dry boots and socks the following morning. Coupled with blue sky and quiet trails our final day was shaping up pretty well. We opted to avoid some of the lanes and head up over the moors instead, navigation app Komoot suggested a good trail but it never materialised. After a steep climb we threaded our way between thick tussocks of grass and heather under a canopy of contorted trees. A woody twig of heather caught in Arran’s rear mech and the mech was ripped round the cassette. The mech hanger snapped in half. I knew exactly where the spare hanger was; on my desk at work. DOH!!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbizk51dEl6TU3WBEEJIfTgFozdP2jnrjNARWAJMRZefze7zM7Rwr0SVbO-kks6YGArIfOWDpy-fYdnExtM4wlPFGi3aY6aY0Q_Inq-2mYNuV9jq3200fZ6_HmpvaNu0cMRkD8ro1N4nd/s1600/7585946192_IMG_1685.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbizk51dEl6TU3WBEEJIfTgFozdP2jnrjNARWAJMRZefze7zM7Rwr0SVbO-kks6YGArIfOWDpy-fYdnExtM4wlPFGi3aY6aY0Q_Inq-2mYNuV9jq3200fZ6_HmpvaNu0cMRkD8ro1N4nd/s320/7585946192_IMG_1685.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">We eventually persuaded the chain and cassette into working singlespeed but the gear wasn’t ideal for the steep sided valleys of the North York Moors so we swapped bikes and headed down to the Helmsley road to find lunch. From Helmsley I span my singlespeed along the back road to Thornton-le-Dale where we dropped in to Pace cycles to check out their 853 framed singlespeed frames. I </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">begged some chain lube to ease the cacophony from the back end of the Slate and we were on our way to Dalby Forest. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">We climbed the blue trail from the car park at Dalby. Unsurprisingly we were the only gravel bikes with luggage on the climb and we soon diverted west to follow the ‘Moor to Sea’ route towards Scarborough. After several miles of forest track we dropped out of the forest to pick up the road into Scarborough where we headed straight down to the sea for photos before dusk. It was just</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> after 5pm and somehow we had arrived ahead of schedule leaving us plenty of time to reflect on Arran’s first C2C whilst watching the sky turn from red and yellow to purple and eventually night. </span><br />
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485857492394349494.post-9316441518592425772017-10-25T14:09:00.001-07:002017-10-31T06:42:27.545-07:00Crossduro Pennines #XDP17<br />
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The Pennines were in characteristically brusque mood on the 7th October, unwilling to give up their finest views to the riders who’d travelled from far and wide to pit themselves against the rugged gritstone of the southern Pennines. Low cloud laden with fine Atlantic rain soaked all who were brave enough to take on the elements. This was looking like a 'type 2 fun' kind of day, one to feel good about later in the pub, or reclined on the sofa in front of deadeye. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtc9Iop6pTjSze5SNcYdkQCixgiPUsaI2kEFQMwC5m95UnMcYq9okrQE4ToGECVWUjNVEwGcAlJ1u0ZDC0qTLsnPjskMA85gCzCB6iMF53Jkh26BB1HJMXndXWwucyv_0kd8dyh0nCSLj/s1600/2-October+2017-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtc9Iop6pTjSze5SNcYdkQCixgiPUsaI2kEFQMwC5m95UnMcYq9okrQE4ToGECVWUjNVEwGcAlJ1u0ZDC0qTLsnPjskMA85gCzCB6iMF53Jkh26BB1HJMXndXWwucyv_0kd8dyh0nCSLj/s200/2-October+2017-11.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qmEvhE3YfCIWHYryz5lk3y9SMe08-1P7ZGciNyBmDGvbXRndRCMA02x9_atno5jXCtZIaLqYsjv5rItTmu6o8_-dbvAmNVBOGM-WWnYWdyM-O7Agaz41XboDuCwSJcFvDcYBqiZnDjSw/s1600/4-October+2017-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLB7CN7o6ZYdEJepaIGh7K8InALOxRqGkkaEkiKCaL0omOpNODI1yPIuwaHxwcxQeFECMZ02yhxfuyupG36l3Q8SmcC-hxgqa0vTs7IoTUPOARp52uvGw_ZrxUw4CMA3HGnrTiXVC1uFVc/s200/1-October+2017-2.jpg" width="200" /> <img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qmEvhE3YfCIWHYryz5lk3y9SMe08-1P7ZGciNyBmDGvbXRndRCMA02x9_atno5jXCtZIaLqYsjv5rItTmu6o8_-dbvAmNVBOGM-WWnYWdyM-O7Agaz41XboDuCwSJcFvDcYBqiZnDjSw/s200/4-October+2017-18.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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It was good to see a bunch of riders including some familiar faces already assembled down at St Georges Square as I rolled in at 7.30am. Some sat astride gravel bikes but quite a few were on mountain bikes, these fat tyre riders were mainly locals who knew the terrain and had opted for comfort and puncture avoidance. As the hands of the station clock eased past 8 I thanked those assembled for turning out and offered some route advice. A couple of photos later (thanks to Stephen Smith for these) and we free-wheeled off past the outdoor market, across the ringroad and onto the canal towpath. I led the riders westward out of town, occasionally glancing over my shoulder to see a string of riders stretched out along the canal path behind me. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="st" data-hveid="90" data-ved="0ahUKEwi-_qyoyozXAhVFnBoKHeeRC5UQ4EUIWjAK">#XDP-1</span></td></tr>
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Marsden was the start of the first Strava timed segment (<span class="st" data-hveid="90" data-ved="0ahUKEwi-_qyoyozXAhVFnBoKHeeRC5UQ4EUIWjAK">#XDP-1</span>). I pulled over and let the riders get on with the segment, I wanted to sit back and watch today as they climbed towards the cloud. Wessenden Head was cloaked in mist, moorland grass heavy with fat droplets of water and the dying bracken adding a melancholic shade of rust to the view up the valley. The old cart track down to Digley reservoir had many cursing the old stone slabs which were grooved deep from the thousands of iron shod cart wheels which had rolled this way in centuries past. The descent also claimed the day’s first victim, a rear mech terminally twisted out of shape. A trail-side singlespeed conversion got the bike mobile but that rider was homeward bound.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">another cobbled climb</td></tr>
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The summit of Holme Moss was wild, heavy mist from the west soaked us whilst the wind grabbed wheels and pushed unwary riders toward the roadside ditches. This was no place to hang around and we soon dived down toward Longdendale playing a high stakes game of ‘who’s going to touch their brake first’, you can hit 60mph down here on a calm day.
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I was now riding with a couple of local riders; Mick Collins and Pete Horne - both on mountain bikes and both well used to this terrain and weather. Pete will celebrate his 70th birthday next year and yet is not afraid of a a fast rocky descent or a slippery technical climb. An inspiration to all of us and a reminder that if age is your excuse, you need to<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"> find a better one. </span>
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After the rocky and occasionally technical track of the Pennine Bridleway came Chew Valley Reservoir climb, a traffic free but tough and pointless climb to a dead end atop the Pennines. This was another wild summit and few hung around, most eager to return to the comparative calm of the valley bottom. We rode on towards Diggle on narrow roads and ancient tracks. In Delph Pete opted to carry on whilst Mick and I stopped for lunch and a coffee break in the back room of a cafe in Delph.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1yMaBCNYBjQOWWvWdv1NbeD6BtYDZTM15_cjRWIN48nDTIxT_W6pePjAqx7laYwo8viiNFFW2kQ6yVDU-1ooc4LwOmPbuoY2nCm_TGKldfb8m_BuYDrS1Vcwe2JijsrTSEJT34UQJiHr/s1600/22-October+2017-137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1yMaBCNYBjQOWWvWdv1NbeD6BtYDZTM15_cjRWIN48nDTIxT_W6pePjAqx7laYwo8viiNFFW2kQ6yVDU-1ooc4LwOmPbuoY2nCm_TGKldfb8m_BuYDrS1Vcwe2JijsrTSEJT34UQJiHr/s200/22-October+2017-137.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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After making up time on the road from Delph we turned left to follow the now familiar Pennine bridleway signs. This time we were bound for Hollingworth Lake, once more on old packhorse trails. I was glad of some suspension on the descents, Mick and I flew past riders on gravel bikes, impervious to the drainage channels and rocks lining the trail, focused only on getting down as fast as we could without puncturing. A shove up a steep rubble strewn chute and we were on our bikes again, contorted in the search for rear wheel traction on the saturated grassy climb that followed. Mick’s relief at completing the climb was tempered by the realisation that his freewheel was going bad, only engaging every few turns of his cranks. He nursed his Van Nicholas down to Hollingworth Lake where we decided to see whether together we could get him back home to Sowerby Bridge 10 miles away. An occasional shove from me and some frantic spinning from Mick saw him home within an hour. I was now some way off route and it was late afternoon, I needed to get to the finish at the Magic Rock Brewery Tap.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzBk6EjPWspNj7cTMLYq-aNRzQKUoEYDDPYHZTR6aIlpUgUdgL8KtPsIn3ST6YrXi55aKfA705Uug88gOLvwCVyH981iv0Ve3t4OTQwHg9-n90gA3DLlmEjGVuYGRDz7enjrUfgc8uU2iB/s1600/7516803616_IMG_1367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzBk6EjPWspNj7cTMLYq-aNRzQKUoEYDDPYHZTR6aIlpUgUdgL8KtPsIn3ST6YrXi55aKfA705Uug88gOLvwCVyH981iv0Ve3t4OTQwHg9-n90gA3DLlmEjGVuYGRDz7enjrUfgc8uU2iB/s200/7516803616_IMG_1367.jpg" width="133" /></a> I met up with a few finishers down at the Magic Rock who agreed; it had been tough but they'd enjoyed the challenges of the route. Some riders had retired around the 50 mile mark and a few had suffered mechanical problems but plenty had completed despite the challenging conditions. It had been a pleasure to share some local trails with riders from further afield, one which I hope to repeat next year.</div>
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Gutsibikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17330843634591331246noreply@blogger.com0