So it has been a little while since I have written with the purpose of keeping you lot up to date with the planning. So forgive me this week as there will be little wistful musings on the nature of touring, no tales of thief-bashing glory, nor any debate on prominent cycling bad habits.
No, this week it is all about progress.
The reason I have descended into more general musings in the last couple of months is probably down to a lack of this key ingredient. The onset of training, distractions of jobs, life, friends, girlfriend, coupled with the sheer amount of time between now and the trip had reduced my planning to a background hum. It was something which cropped up during a quiet moment at work or during a particularly nice ride. But recent events have shaken this up a little.
First up, my hours were cut at work (ensure you read the comments in that link). I am down to a contract of 15 hours per week, £4500 per year. So other than the mild inconvenience of now trying to find work in an over-saturated-with-people-like-me market (thanks global economic fudging!) this means I no longer have the guaranteed means to buy all my kit for myself too. Quite cleverly though, I have organised to have my birthday about a week before I head off for Land's End. This has forced my hand on organising my kit as a birthday list now needs to be drawn up. Thank you in advance to my poor, soon to be poorer family and friends for getting me some terrifically boring/wonderfully fascinating (depending on your temperament) bits of bike equipment. Really, you shouldn't soon to have!
Secondly, my phone contract comes up for renewal soon and I am debating a move in to the world of high tech smartphones. One of the most daunting things of the whole journey for me is the navigation. Maps themselves are fine. I can read them well and have grown to love my laminated ones in my room more than I should. But reading them while riding and then remembering routes etc has me baffled. On the Coast to Coast last year I had to ask directions more times than I'd care to admit. So a new contract may mean a new smartphone with navigation software. Throw in a solar powered charger, a mount for my handlebars and I'll be tweet-face-mapping my way through the country. Saying that, asking for directions last time did have me meeting some pretty lovely people. Maybe that is a joy of the trip I shouldn't deny myself of? I remain undecided for now.
Finally, my dad stuck his oar in recently and Aimee pulled hers out (stop it). I shan't go in to details, that would be for Aimee to do if she wished but she regretfully decided to not join me on the trip. This was sad news for me as I was really looking forward to sharing this journey with her but I respect her reasons for not coming. Besides, she will still be there at the finish line. It will be our two year anniversary after all...
My dad on the other hand sent a message a month or so ago saying he was thinking of jollying off up the highlands at the same time I'll be sweatily puffing through the lowlands. Some too-ing and fro-ing over facebook and a plan was hatched. I will now be linking up with him in a few places throughout Scotland during that leg of the trip. There will even be a night in Llangollen a week earlier where he plans on buying me tea. Honestly, he is brilliant my ol' Dad.
This did all mean though I had to rushedly plan out the Scottish leg quicker than I thought I would have to. I had to let him know where and when I'd be each day so he could book accommodation accordingly. So, not content with buying my tea and unwittingly becoming a force of route planning motivation, he has even secured one or two campsites in the gardens of the places he will be staying. Honestly, brilliant!
So there you go, the gear list has been drawn up, the route itinerary is 95% done and a lack of girlfriend has been offset with a presence of dad.
Progress.
P.s. All together now, "Youuu teeek the heeeigh laaands, an I'll teeek thar looowww!"
P.p.s. To my family: Please don’t take the paragraph about presents as me being presumptuous or unappreciative. Any help with any stuff will have you in my eternal good books. You are all fantastic!
Sunday, 25 April 2010
Thursday, 8 April 2010
In the Groove
It’s been a funny old week or so.
As per my training schedule I extended my commute to cover more miles. I hit a milestone of sorts with last week’s route. I now start my commute heading in exactly the wrong direction for work. It feels a little funny but it takes me through parts of Manchester I was previously unfamiliar with. One of the great joys of my training is forever getting to know my home city more and more.
The joy has been adequately counterbalanced however, by the sworn enemy of all cyclists everywhere. That bloody wind.
Spring has kicked up the airflow and I am finding myself frequently riding head on, in to the wind. And when I’m not thrashing and gulping my way in to it I’m having to lean the bike over trying to avoid being taken off sideways by it.
Have you ever been in a rush on a Saturday, trying to fight through the throng of idle shoppers who seem to be precisely and obtusely in your way? You know that frustrated, tense feeling that rises in your chest that makes you want to thrash and scream? Now imagine every single one of those shoppers gives you a firm shove in the shoulders as you rush by. And they are all Mike Tyson so you can’t even complain without fear of an instant de-lobing. That is what riding through wind feels like. There’s nothing you can do but shrink down and power through. I really hate that bloody wind.
Now and then though, the wind will courteously apologise. It gets behind you and pushes you along at physics defying speeds. It truly feels like flying. I am convinced that if I could spread my arms for just a second I'd be up with the sparrows. Every cloud and all that...
Maybe it was the wind, maybe it was the increased distance, and just maybe it was my determination to keep up a relatively high mph, but last Thursday my Achilles tendon piped up. It was grumbling through the afternoon but later as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I felt a burning ache stretch from my heel to the bottom of my calf. I became an instant juxtaposition of worry and pragmatism. With David Beckham’s tendon snapping antics in the news recently I was immediately paranoid and feared the worst. Yet when threatened with hardship I tend to develop an unusual sense of calm in my actions. So the next morning I dug out my ankle support, and quickly decided to keep riding just at a much slower pace and abandoning my training mileage. Gentle non load bearing exercise is good for recovering tendons. It keeps them supple and encourages the blood flow.
In short, after adopting a rather jaunty limp, I got on with it.
Hey presto, after a few days the pain has gone and I’m already back on the training routes. Thank goodness!
The injury has however forced me to slow things down a little. I think previously on my training I was bolting around the city as quick as possible, trying desperately to hold my own amongst the big-ringing, lycra clad speed freaks. But since my brush with injury I have slowed things down, settling for lower gears, letting the sporty types sail past. As I have said before, bicycle touring is an exercise in pressure and time. Until now I think I have been putting too much pressure into too little time, blasting through my training. But my routes are getting longer and powering through them is no longer practical.
I find myself settling back in the saddle, taking in my surroundings more.
I can feel myself getting in to the groove of touring.
As per my training schedule I extended my commute to cover more miles. I hit a milestone of sorts with last week’s route. I now start my commute heading in exactly the wrong direction for work. It feels a little funny but it takes me through parts of Manchester I was previously unfamiliar with. One of the great joys of my training is forever getting to know my home city more and more.
The joy has been adequately counterbalanced however, by the sworn enemy of all cyclists everywhere. That bloody wind.
Spring has kicked up the airflow and I am finding myself frequently riding head on, in to the wind. And when I’m not thrashing and gulping my way in to it I’m having to lean the bike over trying to avoid being taken off sideways by it.
Have you ever been in a rush on a Saturday, trying to fight through the throng of idle shoppers who seem to be precisely and obtusely in your way? You know that frustrated, tense feeling that rises in your chest that makes you want to thrash and scream? Now imagine every single one of those shoppers gives you a firm shove in the shoulders as you rush by. And they are all Mike Tyson so you can’t even complain without fear of an instant de-lobing. That is what riding through wind feels like. There’s nothing you can do but shrink down and power through. I really hate that bloody wind.
Now and then though, the wind will courteously apologise. It gets behind you and pushes you along at physics defying speeds. It truly feels like flying. I am convinced that if I could spread my arms for just a second I'd be up with the sparrows. Every cloud and all that...
Maybe it was the wind, maybe it was the increased distance, and just maybe it was my determination to keep up a relatively high mph, but last Thursday my Achilles tendon piped up. It was grumbling through the afternoon but later as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I felt a burning ache stretch from my heel to the bottom of my calf. I became an instant juxtaposition of worry and pragmatism. With David Beckham’s tendon snapping antics in the news recently I was immediately paranoid and feared the worst. Yet when threatened with hardship I tend to develop an unusual sense of calm in my actions. So the next morning I dug out my ankle support, and quickly decided to keep riding just at a much slower pace and abandoning my training mileage. Gentle non load bearing exercise is good for recovering tendons. It keeps them supple and encourages the blood flow.
In short, after adopting a rather jaunty limp, I got on with it.
Hey presto, after a few days the pain has gone and I’m already back on the training routes. Thank goodness!
The injury has however forced me to slow things down a little. I think previously on my training I was bolting around the city as quick as possible, trying desperately to hold my own amongst the big-ringing, lycra clad speed freaks. But since my brush with injury I have slowed things down, settling for lower gears, letting the sporty types sail past. As I have said before, bicycle touring is an exercise in pressure and time. Until now I think I have been putting too much pressure into too little time, blasting through my training. But my routes are getting longer and powering through them is no longer practical.
I find myself settling back in the saddle, taking in my surroundings more.
I can feel myself getting in to the groove of touring.
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