CV
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There was a time when I would often go out at the weekend and enjoy a 70
or 80 mile ride, or occasionally a bit further. But that was before my
beloved and I became an item.
On 10 July 1998 (a week after I first asked Catherine out), I towed my BoB 140 miles to a juggling convention. Then I took 3 days over getting home. That was the last time for nearly six years that I rode more than 60 miles in a day, and by 2004 I could think of only five occasions when I'd ridden more than 30 miles. After that I wanted to spend my weekends with Catherine (and more recently with the kids), and she hadn't wanted to do that sort of mileage.
But I'd missed my long rides, and for years I had intended to ride the Avon Cycleway, an 85 mile (according to the leaflet) loop around the outside of Bristol. In 2003 I agreed with a friend that we'd ride it together during the summer of 2004. As Catherine had taken the kids to her mum's for a few days, and I had booked Monday to Wednesday off work to make the most of a few days to myself, the first weekend in June seemed an ideal opportunity.
To start with I wasn't at all sure about my ability to complete the ride, it being my first long ride in 6 years and the first ever on the recumbent (I arbitrarily define 'long' as anything over about 70 miles). I was even less confident about Jamie, although he seemed sure enough of himself. I had no doubts about his fitness, but I knew he hadn't put in many miles on the Speed Machine. When it came to it, he seemed to finish the ride a lot fresher than I did.
I arranged to meet Jamie at Warmley Station (on the Bath-Bristol
cyclepath) at 10:00 on Sunday 6 June. I had thought long and hard
about which of my 3 pairs of cycling shoes to wear for a ride of this
length, but one look out the window on the morning of the ride confirmed
that it had to be the sandals. Throwing fashion caution to the wind, I
also slung a pair of socks in a pannier just in case we were late back
and it got chilly. Thankfully I didn't need them.
With my ever improving slaphead credentials I deemed it prudent to wear a cap, but that didn't last more than an hour before I decided it was just too hot.
After a hearty breakfast of porridge, I left home at 09:55 and arrived at Warmley Station dead on time, to find that Jamie had already been there for a few minutes. The first 5 miles (along the cyclepath) were of very little interest to me, as I ride them every morning on my way to work. It all got a bit more interesting after we passed my office.
From Saltford, our route (NCN Regional Route 10) coincided with NCN National Route 3. I was impressed by how well signposted Route 3 was, and said as much. 2 miles later we found ourselves retracing our tyre tracks having missed the turning for Burnett. It turned out that there was a sign but it was buried in a tree.
When we found our turning, we stopped for a snack. I took my first photo of the day and removed my sweaty cycling cap. While we were stopped, Jamie was stung 3 times by a bee. Yes, I know it's surprising to be stung 3 times by the same bee, but it was definitely a bee (I helped him get it out of his jersey), it definitely didn't leave it's sting behind (I saw it clearly) and there were definitely 3 puncture marks (which Jamie hoped to use for sympathy from his wife later on).
2 miles later (after a fantastic descent) we stopped at Compton Dando to take my second photo (of the church), only to find that my camera battery was flat. Catherine had the digital camera in Sevenoaks with her, so I had my old film camera with the 3-year-old film that I hoped to use up. Until shortly before leaving home I also had the disposable camera that lives in my pannier, but I had discarded it because I felt I was carrying too much.
We stopped again for another snack 3 miles later, in the shade of the magnificent Pensford Viaduct. I wished I had a working camera with me.
Somewhere between Stanton Drew and Chew Valley Lake, Route 10 seems to part company with Route 3. We hadn't realised this and, not having seen any Route 10 signs, carried on following Route 3. This fortuitous mistake led us to the Spar in Bishop Sutton, where I was able to buy a camera battery. Then, once we worked out where we were, we were soon able to find our way to the Northern shore of the lake where we stopped for lunch. We were watched by a young boy who was fascinated by our bikes and whose father, had he wanted to get away, would have had little hope of shifting the child until he had seen us ride off.
Soon after Chew Valley Lake, Regional Route 10 rejoins National Route 3
for a few more miles, so we again had adequate signage. When the routes
again diverged, Route 10 was clearly marked. We rode the next 14 miles
to Clevedon with few navigational problems. When I noticed on the map
that we were passing close to Nempnett Thrubwell, I resisted the
temptation to suggest a detour to see just what The Wurzels were singing
about.
On the approach to Clevedon we had a continuous 3 mile descent. While I reflected on how nice it was to have a bike that could be ridden at 30+mph with no stability problems even when heavily laden, I also couldn't help thinking about the cyclists' theory of gravity. What goes down, must go back up.
At Chelvey we stopped again and had a long chat with a local cyclist who had stopped for a can of lager. He was surprised that we were planning to ride the whole of the Avon Cycleway in one day, but reckoned we should make pretty short work of it on the recumbents.
In Clevedon I prodded my scalp and decided it was starting to go pink, so I put my cap back on and kept it on until the sun was low enough to pose no threat.
From Clevedon, the route runs alongside the M5 for about 7 miles.
Somewhere along there, 39 miles into the ride, Jamie suffered the only
puncture of the trip. A snakebite caused by hitting a pothole with
underinflated tyres. Stelvios have a minimum pressure rating of 85psi, but when I squeezed the other tyre I estimated the pressure at about 60psi. After helping him remove the wheel, I took the opportunity
to have a snack and replenish my sun cream. And to take a photo of
Jamie fixing a puncture :-)
At Clapton in Gordano, while we were stopped to look at the map, we were passed by a couple of upright cyclists who seemed to be going our way and to know where they were going. After catching them up on a descent, it transpired that they were riding at the same speed as we were. So we followed them for the next 3 miles. Just before Pill they turned down a side road that wasn't signposted as part of the route, so we stopped to check the map.
After a brief discussion with a very nice lady who told us we looked great on our bikes, we concluded that they had gone the right way, so we headed off down there ourselves. And got lost. We should have just kept following the other guys.
The Wurzels sang about Pill as well ("Pill, Pill, I love thee still"). Dunno why, from what little I've seen of it it's a dump.
Eventually we found our way to the mile long bridge where the M5 (and
the cyclepath alongside it) crosses the Avon. On the ascent to the
bridge I was mildly amused by the signs saying "Maximum Speed 15mph",
but not as amused as if I hadn't already seen a sign saying that mopeds
and scooters were allowed to use the path.
On the bridge itself we leapfrogged each other, each taking photos of
the other riding. Standing on a motorway bridge when a lorry goes past
is very disconcerting. Then towards the end we checked to see where
we were going next, and at this point we noticed a difference between
our route guides. My 1998 edition directed us up the B4055 towards
Henbury, while Jamie's 2001 edition directed us up an off-road cyclepath
that presumably didn't exist in 1998. We decided to follow the more
recent guide, ending up on Route 41 and seemingly on a route marked on
Jamie's map as "proposed future route for the Avon Cycleway".
Then we got lost again. We continued to follow Route 41 in the hope that it
was going where we wanted to go, but we really didn't know where we were. We'd
have been much better off following my older route guide. Still, by following
Route 41 we eventually found a sign for Route 10. I also got some great pictures
for my farcilities page - the gates on
Route 41 are ludicrous.
The rest of the route was reasonably well signposted. Somewhere around
Olveston (about 60 miles in) I started to tire, and for the next 15
miles the hills seemed cruel. At about 70 miles Jamie phoned his wife
to tell her he'd be home a couple of hours later than expected, and got
an earful. Then somewhere around Yate, knowing we were on the home
run, I caught my second wind. Unfortunately that was also when it got
dark, so we really had to keep a sharp eye out to see the little brown
route signs. Lighting wasn't a problem, as both our bikes are fitted
with SON hub dynoamoes and Lumotec Oval Plus lights. Jamie also had one
of his Lumicycles with him, but I only had a couple of LED's for backup.
On the outskirts of Yate we joined another off-road cyclepath for a few hundred yards. It was tarmacced, with a bridleway running alongside it and a sign instructing equestrians to keep off the tarmac. So, predictably enough, the tarmac was liberally sprinkled with horseshit.
The next 9 miles seemed a lot easier than the previous 30. Jamie and I parted company at Mangotsfield Station, by which time it was nearly 2 hours later than he had originally told his wife to expect him home. And he had to get up for work in the morning. I felt very glad that my wife was away and I didn't have to get up for work in the morning.
I had another mile of the loop left to ride. Jamie had already ridden it on his way to meet me in the morning. But before tackling it, I stopped for a flapjack and drained the last of my water.
I had always intended, if I felt up to it when I reached Warmley Station
for the second time, to add another short loop to take my mileage up to the
magic 100 mile mark. I was actually feeling pretty shattered by the
time I returned to Warmley Station, and I'd been getting twinges in my
right knee for the last couple of miles. But with my computer reading
94.97 miles, I decided to go for it. Perhaps not a wise decision, given
the knee twinges, but who knows when the next opportunity to complete a
century will be?
I headed first for the drinking fountain a few hundred yards further along the cyclepath. Then I went to explore some of the local sections of the ring road cyclepath that I'd never bothered with before, discovering some interesting links. When I finally reached my front door, at one minute to midnight, feeling very ready for the big bowl of pasta that I had thankfully prepared the night before, and with my knee killing me, my computer showed a trip distance of 101.21 miles at an average speed of 11.2mph. I would have liked to have gone a little bit further, knowing that my computer could conceivably be out by as much as 2%, but I really didn't want to ride any further with that knee.
(I remembered that I used to allow for an average speed of 10mph for long rides, but I couldn't remember whether that included stops or not. After taking 14 hours to complete a century, I could only conclude that it probably didn't).
I don't think I've ever felt less like stretching, but stretch I did. After a good night's sleep the only serious aches were in my Achilles tendons, which I hadn't thought to stretch because I'd never had a problem with them before. At no point did I suffer any of the back or neck aches that would have resulted from doing this ride on an upright bike.
Overall it was a good ride, and my first long ride with company, which was nice. And it reassured us that we should be OK on the 60 miler that we planned to do the following weekend (Clevedon Challenge in Bristol's Biggest Bike Ride, plus the ride to the start and home again at the end).
Much of the route is along the same roads that we rode on Sunday, but in the opposite direction. I did the same ride on the Street Machine 3 years earlier, so I hoped I should be OK, but of course you can lose a lot of fitness in 3 years.
Danny
CV
Cycling
Recumbents
Unicycling
Juggling
Other Links
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