As I flex my newly thawed fingers across my keyboard, my bottom has limitless exuberance in the plush office chair it now inhabits. Memories of a skinny saddle fade away. The toes rejoice too, rescued from frozen socks and soggy shoes they curl and stretch in the warmth of my room along with my thighs. Like cats by the fire, they are intrinsically at peace now. A rigid back lets go the tension of the day, thrumming in arch-supported pleasure. And my poor, ice kissed nose has finally stopped weeping all down my shirt. Its rest, along with all other parts of my body is well deserved.
My brain however can sod off.
Thanks to it my body suffered more than it should today. Setting off for the previously promised big bike ride, I was to be meandering through south Manchester and over to the peaks of Derbyshire where my dad lives. One lovely lunch later, another quick trundle down the hills and I was to be home for supper. Thirty-five miles of joy.
My thighs gave up after twelve or so miles. I was doing well on the flat, keeping my usual 17-18 mph speed, but as soon as any hills loomed large in front of me, they cowered like a collared puppy. There is a key design flaw in all bikes too. If one hits a puddle at speed, the spray is channeled directly at the feet. With today’s icy cold, snow-thawed puddles, I ground to a sodden and miserably cold halt in Marple. Putting down my left foot to steady myself, I had the sickening sensation of not knowing where my toes were. My foot was as numb as an Eskimo’s willy.
A quick phone call and my wonderful father and step-mother agreed to meet me nearby at my Stepsister’s house. Equally as wonderful, she plied me with hot chocolate and dry socks until my dad arrived, his ever present smile in contrast with my frustration and embarrassment of being so fussed over after falling so short of my goal. Still, we went for lunch (he paid. Seriously, wonderful!) and a walk around my old childhood haunt, Etherow Park set me to rights.
Warming up at home now I am forced to concede that the Blue Eyed Monster that is February (that is, my brain) had me bite of more than I could chew today. My seventeen mile jaunt with Aimee the other week should have been no yard stick to measure today by. Back then it was warmer, we were cycling slower and over less challenging terrain. That and we stopped halfway for a cooked breakfast.
In my desperation to fight this Monster, I wanted to achieve big today to give February something to smile over but instead set a rather unrealistic goal in unreasonable conditions.
Ho hum, you live and learn. And I will take a few lessons from today:
#1 Always eat well. I made the classic mistake of letting myself get hungry on the bike. It’s akin to setting off down the motorway with your petrol gauge in the red.
#2 Don’t be impatient. Bicycle touring is a balance between pressure and time. A little pressure over a long time will yield fantastic results. A lot of pressure in a small amount of time is ruinous.
#3. Bring spare socks.
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Saturday, 13 February 2010
February is a blue eyed monster...
I haven't posted in the last few weeks. It is no coincidence that these few weeks happen to all have something to do with February.
I hate February. All of it makes me lethargic, lazy. It is a relatively useless month that seems to exist as a buffer between January and the onset of spring. Imagine going straight from one to the next. Bliss. Valentines Day adds present purchasing pressure for the attached and solitary sulking for the single. The only redeeming feature is Pancake Day. And I have pancakes on other days so it's not that special anymore.
For cycling, February has its perils too. The cold, wind, and snow are stacked against you. Especially if you're still working off some holiday podge. As I commute on the bike, I tend to get to and from work slower, more ruddy-nosed, and with an unstoppable torrent of snot slicking the front of my jacket. Not to mention suffering from finger-devouring frostbite. I'm not kidding. I've lost so many I'm now in finger deficit.
Like I said, hate February.
Right now the idea of Land's End seems quite remote. The route planning has ground to a halt. I tell myself it is because Aimee needs to be in on it too and we're rarely together. But my planning method welcomes mistakes. I don't have much of an excuse. (Check out earlier posts for the laminated map method!)
Any further training is tough to work up to. I have a week off and a perfect opportunity for some long rides. But like a fool, I keep checking the Met Office website and convincing myself that such-a-day would be too cold, too wet etc etc.
Excuses excuses. Lethargic and lazy.
I learned something about myself on the Coast to Coast last year though. If it's hard, I can power through. The rewards are beautifully worth it. So despite the blue eyed monster named February dangling from my shoulders, I'll set off for a thirty mile jaunt around the hills this week. I may lose all my limbs to frostbite, and slick the asphalt with my nasal fluids, but this month is hard for me. So I'll power through.
By the time I get to John O' Groats, the results might just be worth it.
I hate February. All of it makes me lethargic, lazy. It is a relatively useless month that seems to exist as a buffer between January and the onset of spring. Imagine going straight from one to the next. Bliss. Valentines Day adds present purchasing pressure for the attached and solitary sulking for the single. The only redeeming feature is Pancake Day. And I have pancakes on other days so it's not that special anymore.
For cycling, February has its perils too. The cold, wind, and snow are stacked against you. Especially if you're still working off some holiday podge. As I commute on the bike, I tend to get to and from work slower, more ruddy-nosed, and with an unstoppable torrent of snot slicking the front of my jacket. Not to mention suffering from finger-devouring frostbite. I'm not kidding. I've lost so many I'm now in finger deficit.
Like I said, hate February.
Right now the idea of Land's End seems quite remote. The route planning has ground to a halt. I tell myself it is because Aimee needs to be in on it too and we're rarely together. But my planning method welcomes mistakes. I don't have much of an excuse. (Check out earlier posts for the laminated map method!)
Any further training is tough to work up to. I have a week off and a perfect opportunity for some long rides. But like a fool, I keep checking the Met Office website and convincing myself that such-a-day would be too cold, too wet etc etc.
Excuses excuses. Lethargic and lazy.
I learned something about myself on the Coast to Coast last year though. If it's hard, I can power through. The rewards are beautifully worth it. So despite the blue eyed monster named February dangling from my shoulders, I'll set off for a thirty mile jaunt around the hills this week. I may lose all my limbs to frostbite, and slick the asphalt with my nasal fluids, but this month is hard for me. So I'll power through.
By the time I get to John O' Groats, the results might just be worth it.
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