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Running short of time

The picture left doesn’t have much to do with cycling but it is what has kept me from my bike and training for the last week. Not the space shuttle’s final farewell over the Golden Gate Bridge. That was just a happy coincidence of timing with my company’s management meeting in San Francisco, the trip for which was the cause of me missing out on riding.

Our US office is actually just over the bay from the city in Sausalito, and sits at the foothills of some tremendous scenery and cycling. Sadly, despite the kind offers from my local colleagues to organise me a ride or two, it simply wasn’t practical to take 3 or 4 hours out from the few days of my trip for a decent ride. Running is not my favourite form of exercise, it probably wouldn’t even come second on the list. It is very efficient on time though, and luggage space too. So instead of helmet, cycle shoes and pedals, I crammed new sneakers and two pairs of running gear into my already bulging suitcase.

Anyone who has flown long distance will be all too familiar with being wide-awake in the small hours of the morning, however tiring the previous day’s travelling.  I may already have mentioned that I’m not the keenest of runners, but after having gone through all my emails and news items, it was definitely preferable to trashy hotel TV or another hour of trying to get back to sleep. Knowing all this in advance, I had made a definite plan to go out for a short run the Tuesday morning after my arrival. I’d even checked what time sunrise was, in order that the return leg would be accompanied by the first rays of morning light over the bay. I  just wasn’t completely sure I’d actually do it, until I found myself outside the hotel at 5:45am.

The first few minutes were predictably uncomfortable, not having done any significant running for many years, and wearing brand new, unbroken in sneakers. My goal was to run against time rather than distance, to see if I could keep up a steady pace for an hour without stopping or walking. Over the first few blocks I made the mistake of looking at my watch far too often, and time seemed to be passing even more slowly than my feet were moving. Gradually though I got control of my breathing and settled into a manageable work rate. The half hour turnaround mark coincided exactly with the rise of highway 101 bridge across the spur of the bay near Mill Valley. And, just as planned, the first strides back were greeted with the faint grey hint of dawn. I must confess to feeling rather smug with my timing, and smugger still as I rounded the last curve and the hotel and more importantly Poggios, the coffee shop next door, came into view. I might have managed my first full hour of continuous road running for more than five years, but being a cyclist at heart there was no way I was going back for a shower without a cappuccino and a muffin.

I’d every good intention of running the same route again on the Thursday morning of my trip, but our company dinner and too many glasses of wine on Wednesday evening banished that little idea. I did make up for it on the Friday morning though, covering the 8.3km of the same route this time in 54 minutes, 6 minutes quicker than my effort on Tuesday. I wasn’t consciously trying to beat the time, but feeling strong I inevitably ran a lot faster on both the leg out and back.

The only annoying part of both runs was seeing so many guys out cycling. It would have been great to have had time to join them on two wheels. All the more so because cyclists are giving so much more space and respect in the US than home in SA. A situation all too sadly emphasized in the last two weeks, with one cyclist knocked down by a motorist and two hijacked, all on our regular training routes around Somerset West and Stellenbosch. It’s a shame with such great cycling and so many enthusiastic riders here at home that we seem to be playing a game of Russian roulette against drivers and criminals every time we go out to ride. Worse is that the local law enforcement seem unable or uninterested in doing anything against the situation. I guess in the grand scheme of their challenges, cyclists are just one small part but that doesn’t help those knocked down, injured, and robbed of their bikes.

America may have waved goodbye to the shuttle and NASA handed the space race over to private consortia, but they do at least make it reasonably safe for their citizens to enjoy a much older and more peaceful example of transportation technology, the bicycle.

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Top of the mountain


My Garmin was reading 51km as our group of riders paused briefly to agree the rendezvous point before we tackled the pass ahead. We’d done about 3 or 4km of very gradual incline since leaving the Paarl but the real work was still ahead. The Garmin would roll forward another 30km before we would all met up again at this spot.

Despite a number of fellow riders re-assuring me that Du Toitskloof Pass was long but not steep, I was very definitely daunted. In fact I’d been nervous at the prospect for the last  few days – I didn’t have any doubts that I would make it, but I was much less confident how much would be left in my legs afterwards to deal with the remaining 50km to home once the climb was behind us.

My nervousness wasn’t helped by a nasty crash in our bunch earlier that morning, less than 10km into the ride. The warning signal for a pothole hadn’t passed back to the tail of the group and Des went down as his front wheel pitched into it. John was close on his wheel and, being unable to avoid the fallen rider, ran into him, somersaulting bike and all to an equally hard landing on the road just beyond. Des immediately pulled out but somehow John rode on for a few kilometres. Frankly I’d have been too battered to continue but John either knows how to fall better or is just plain tougher than me. Sadly his bike wasn’t so tough and it soon became evident that his rear derailleur was too badly broken to continue, forcing a second early retirement before we’d even reached Stellenbosch. As if that weren’t enough, to cap off my unease was the knowledge that the temperature was forecast to be over 30 degrees by the time we started the return leg. And that forecast was for Somerset West, Paarl is frequently hotter by several degrees.

The moment was here though – no longer any point worrying, it was time to get cracking and get the job done. Having driven the road a few times before I already knew what a majestic sweep of tarmac lay before us, and how fabulous the views over the Paarl winelands were for the whole of the journey to the top. So if the legs or lungs started to falter, a quick glance at the jawdropping scenery to the left should at least provide a mental boost to my efforts. The downside of having driven the pass before was knowing exactly where the top was, and it’s appearance high up on the distant hillside was a sobering sight.

Over the first couple of kilometres I was surprised to find myself not far off the leading group, but I knew that would not last even before Penny commented that they’d start accelerating soon. As the road swung right into the cool shadow of the deep horseshoe corner before it’s straight ascent up the side of the mountain, I dropped a gear and settled back into a steady pace which I hoped would be sustainable for the rest of the climb. Even before the road swept back left out of the hairpin both the lead group and Penny were already matchstick figures across the widening gap, and I began what I imagined would be a solo battle to the top against the sudden blasts of a gusting wind. I was wrong though.

“Latch on Rob“, came a friendly call from Paul and Alita as they passed me.

“I think I’ll just need to grind this one out to the top“, I replied and prepared to watch them slowly disappear as well.

I’m not sure what changed to be honest. A couple of minutes went by and they were a few metres ahead. A few minutes more though, and the elastic semed to have stopped stretching. I don’t really remember altering my cadence, or shifting gears, but I must have because I gradually began to reel the distance back in. Without really intending too, I reached Alita’s wheel and latched on. I doubted I’d be able to stay with them the whole way, but I resolved to do my best to hang on as far as I could. I wasn’t sure the guys had realised I had kept up until Paul called back a few minutes later:

“Doing ok Rob?“

“Yes thanks Paul, hanging in for now I think. Not sure I’ll be with you all the way but appreciated the help” I responded. Maybe I hadn’t really caught them, maybe without looking back, Paul had slowed ever so slightly to encourage me join them. Either way, I was very grateful of the company.

Just as John, Penny, and everyone had predicted, the climb wasn’t steep. It was relentless though, and long. I forget which of us remarked first on how cool it was to be tackling a climb of similar length to those you see on mountain stages of the Tour de France, albeit with a considerably kinder gradient and lower summit. I also remembering commenting that I’d been looking forward to this ride for weeks, although now I was actually on it, sweating and puffing like a broken steam engine, I wasn’t quite sure why.

Somewhere, I’d guess it was a little beyond half way, we caught up with Graham, and as we briefly became four riders I decided I had to at least make some token gesture of helping the cause and took the lead. We dropped our pace a little but, struggling with a chest cold, Graham told us he wanted to go at his own pace and we must push on ahead. I picked up the pace again, and stayed at the front for a little while longer.

Some time later we saw a group of bikers parked on the left, and it wasn’t until I saw the road’s final sweep right across rather than up the hill, and noticed two of our riders under the shade of the tree that I realised we’d reached the top. It had taken about an hour to get there, but the company, the views, and the steady effort, had compressed time so much that it actually seemed like just a few minutes.

“Made it” was the simple text I sent to Yoli, with a photo attached just to prove it. Behind those two words though was a great sense of relief and more than a little satisfaction at having ticked off this fabulous climb from my list of must-do rides.

After a quick stop for a breather we started the rewarding blast back down. Even at my cautious pace, it took less than 20 minutes, but in another bizarre warp of time and space the journey down seemed to be about twice the distance of the route we’d cycled up.

The ride home was in fact hotter than the forecast had promised, and I was very glad of the stop in Paarl to fill up water bottles. A couple of weeks back I started upping the calorie quota in my energy drink bottle, which definitely helped keep me going longer and stronger over the last stretches of the ride home. We’d kept together well as a group on the way out and the initial stretches home through Paarl, but our pace quickened along the later stages of the R101 back to the four way stop at Klapmuts. Without John’s leadership, the inevitable happened and the group split was we started along the R44. I just about clung on to the fast bunch to the top of the Wiesenhof hill, but with 30km still to go I knew my legs would last at their pace, and so once again I settled in to what I imagined would be a solo effort home. 

Again I was wrong, and again it was Paul who proved it. This time he was ahead of me but as we reached the outskirts of Stellenbosch I realised I’d steadily been gaining on him, and with the gap down to less than a hundred  metres I put in a few quick turns on the cranks.

“Not much left in the legs, I reckon it’s time to take it easy for this last bit” I said as I pulled alongside.

Paul hardly had time to respond, before another rider, also called John, joined us and again we were three for the last small effort home. I was pleasantly surprised how little pain and cramping I was suffering and how much I had left in my legs for the last ramps up Yonder Hill and then Irene Avenue. I’d paced my effort well over the 130km and finished tired, but not exhausted and only a little sore.

Du Toitskloof Pass had not disappointed either. It took more than two centuries from the original idea for the pass in 1725, to it’s completion in 1945. Numerous passes with lesser engineering challenges were built in the interim, including the nearby and equally majestic Bainskloof which is also high on my must-do list of rides. Having been superceded in 1988 by the Huguenot Tunnel, the pass now seems to be mostly used by trucks, presumably looking to avoid the toll, and bikers enjoying the thrill of speeding through the snaking corners. And of course cyclists like ourselves this weekend, looking for thrills of a more energetic kind.

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Not all about me

It’s been in the back of my mind for quite a while that as well as the fun and exercise I get from cycling events I could, perhaps even should, be using them to raise funds for charity as well. A couple of things which have happened this year have prompted me to actually act on this rather than keep forgetting about it or putting it off.

Over the last 12 months both Yoli’s and my mother were diagnosed with breast cancer. Both of them have had to undergo some fairly harsh treatments, but it’s been an enormous relief that the outlook for both of them is now looking very positive. Even with the advances in modern medicine that have significantly boosted the survival rates, early detection is still  one of the most important factors. The Pink Drive is a South African charity which aims to help with just that by providing access to breast cancer education and screening to women in disadvantaged communities.

The other fund raising motivation came about through our friend Marleen. For the last couple of year’s she’s tried to get together a charity team through her work, but for one reason of other it hasn’t quite come about. This year though she managed to mobilise people much earlier, and contacted me a few weeks back asking to add my name to their charity group entry for the 2013 Cape Argus. Anyone reading this blog will know how much the Argus means to me, so I immediately said yes to Marleen’s invite. The charity which they have chosen is The Pebbles Project, raising money for disadvantages kids in our area.

Over the course of a couple of months I’d gone from a vague notion that maybe I should be pedalling for a cause to having two that I felt personally connected with. This created something of a dilemma for me: I’ve no qualms about asking friends and colleagues to sponsor me for a good cause; but I didn’t want to canvas the same people twice in quick succession with pleas for support. It took me a little while before the obvious dawned on me. Rather than raise money through one or two cycling events, why not make the scope bigger and roll all of my planned cycling events for the next year together into one big cycling project. The choice of which of the two charities to sponsor would then be left to each individual according to which they feel the most desire to support.

So that’s how the “2,000km for something other than just me” project came about – raising money for both causes through riding in the following events over the next year:

  • 14 Oct 2012: PPA One Tonner, 156km
  • 24 Nov 2012: Coronation Double Century, 202km
  • Feb 2013: 99er, 110km
  • 10 Mar 2013: Cape Argus Cycle Tour, 108km
  • 28 Jul – 2 Aug 2013: London Edinburgh London, 1418km

As anyone who cycles will know, 2,000km in a year is not actually very much – less than 40km a week, which is not much more than an average commute to work. But of course the above are just the actual events. Training rides over that period may well come to another 10,000km of cycling on top of the actual events – or to think of it another way, the distance from here in Cape Town back to London. So sadly I won’t be taking it easy on the couch between the above rides.

If you’d like to join me on any of the above rides – it’d be great to have some company along all those kilometres. But regardless of whether cycling is your thing, I’d really appreciate you supporting one of the two causes I’ll be raising money for:

2,000Km for Pink Drive
2,000Km for Pebbles Project

Thanks.

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Dad’s One Tonner

It’s so glaringly obvious that it’s surprising how often we overlook the fact that we literally owe our lives to our parents, whether those lives are good or bad. Quite apart from the genetic material that became fused and handed down to us in a miraculous instant of biology, are the formative years from birth to early adulthood: where we lived; who we had around us; how our parents treated us; what education and healthcare we received; and whatever preparation and contacts they helped us form as we made our first tentative steps towards independence. As I said, this stuff is so obvious we forget it pretty much every day after we fly the nest, assuming of course we hadn’t already lost sight of it. A couple of things have helped change that forgetfulness for me in recent years, the first of those was becoming a parent myself. Through the amazing highs and lows of the sometimes terrifying parental roller-coaster you realise exactly how much hard work and sacrifice your parents had to go through to bring you up. Suddenly all of your flaws and mistakes, however well intentioned, affect another life that for the next few years is utterly dependant on you. It’s humbling, and if it doesn’t extinguish the last embers of the ungrateful child in you then you’re missing something.

The second big change was when my dad died a couple of years back. I’ve heard it said that losing your parents is one of life’s rights of passage, and I can say for me that was all too painfully true. In amongst the grief, something so odd happened to me at the funeral that it’s a struggle for me to put it down in words. During the moving eulogy it was mentioned how much Dad loved to go to the beach with my sister and I – another thing which I had forgotten down the years. A little later as we went to drink a toast at Dad’s wake the bizarre event  occurred. I pulled out my phone and the background wallpaper had changed to a photo taken of our son Ben a couple of weeks before – at the beach. There he was sitting in the sand beside his ball, looking back at me. I’m sure I had been fiddling with the phone in my pocket during the service, because I am an obsessive fiddler. But to get all the way through the menus, select that one picture and then set it as the wallpaper took so many clicks on my old phone I could barely manage it even when I was holding it in front of me. To have it happen blind in my pocket based on random fiddling seems incredible. Despite being a normally rational person, it feels like some remaining spirit of Dad guided those fingers with a purpose – to send me a message that he had shown me everything I needed to be a good dad myself, and all I needed was to follow his examples. Get out there, play, go to the beach.

I’m willing to bet that as Bradley Wiggins crossed the line in the yellow jersey this year, he thanked his dad, probably both his parents, for helping him to become the first ever Brit to win the Tour de France. I can’t pretend Dad had anything like that influence on my late developing interest in cycling, but there are some cycling related things I remember clearly from my childhood. One of these was that both my parents believed bikes were not gifts for birthdays or Christmas – but represented transport and independence for us as growing kids. As a result, we always had a bike that fitted and worked, and it got replaced when it became too small or worn out. The first bike I recall properly was my first “big bike” – it was a bright gold and red, and I think it was a Raleigh. I forget if it had gears, I have a vague memory of a three speed Sturmey Archer with a twist grip change, but maybe that was one of my friends’ bikes. I fell off it the first day I rode it, but after that shaky start it became much loved and abused. Funnily enough, in later life I fell off each of my motorcycles exactly once too – and they also became much loved. The last bike they bought for me was a blue and red Dawes, with front and rear dérailleurs with old school, non indexed shifters either side of the down tube. I think it was a 10 speed, even though that seems ridiculously few compared to modern machines. That bike lived up to my folk’s belief in bikes as transport, and got ridden to and from my secondary school many times in good and bad weather.

Another cycling influence which came from Dad is stories he told to me of his own adventures as he was growing up. These have taken on a greater significance to me in the last couple of years since his passing, and as the time I have spent cycling has increased. I wish I’d listened more carefully to him telling them to me as a child, although I guess what I really wish for is that he were still here to re-tell it to me. I’m fortunate though, Mick Milward was one of Dad’s gang of friends, and he has kindly shared with me his recollections of one their greatest cycling adventure to add some meat to the bones of my own sketchy memories of Dad’s tales.

At this point I’ll let Mick’s words take up the story ….

That Cycle Trip in 1948

I have written out the cycle trip for my own ‘history’ which I keep saying I will write. So it is a bit longer than I thought it might be.  I have added a map, which is a modern one with motorways – they didn’t exist then in 1948.  In the description in my diary there was a name against each day – maybe we took in turns to be the leader, but I don’t really know.


Wednesday August 18
            From West Bridgford to Holmfirth YHA                                 Derek         67 miles
            The route would have been through the Peak District.
I remember that when we arrived at Holmfirth town we then had to ride (or push) 2½ miles up a steep hill to the hostel.
I described the hostel as ‘indifferent’.
Thursday August 19
            From Holmfirth YHA to Barley YHA                                      Mic              45 miles
This must have been through places like Hebden Bridge, Todmorden, and Burnley to reach this small village in the shadow of Pendle Hill.
‘Very good hostel’.

Friday August 20
            From Barley YHA to Arnside YHA                                         Geff            53 miles
The obvious route would have taken us over the Trough of Bowland and then up the coast into Cumbria (Cumberland).
‘Good hostel’
Saturday August 21
            Day of rest, looking at the sea, maybe a bit of train spotting.
Sunday August 22
            From Arnside YHA to Askrigg YHA                                       Derek         45 miles
Route via Kendal, Sedburgh and Hawes with quite a few hills through the Yorkshire Dales.
‘Hostel poor!’
I seem to remember going to a film show in the village hall in the evening.

Monday August 23
            From Askrigg YHA to Malton YHA                                         Mic             63 miles
A fairly level ride through Wensleydale, then via Masham, Thirsk, pushing bikes up Sutton Bank and on to Malton.
‘Indifferent hostel’ – but I made a note in the diary – ‘Beware Warden’s wife’ – these were the days of doing jobs at hostels – she was probably a dragon in her kitchen!

Tuesday August 24
            From Malton YHA to Bridlington YHA                                    Geff            30 miles
            A short journey across the Wolds.
At this point Derek went to stay with his Aunt.
‘Indifferent hostel’
Wednesday August 25
            From Bridlington YHA to Tickhill YHA                                    Mic             73 miles
Geoff and I continued our trip down main roads via Goole (no Humber Bridge then), and Thorne to the village of Tickhill, near Bawtry.
This journey was memorable only for a strong head wind which absolutely exhausted us.
‘Bad hostel.
Thursday August 26
            From Tickhill YHA to West Bridgford                                                       40 miles
Presumably the wind had eased off a bit as we travelled down the A60 through Nottingham and back over Trent Bridge to West Bridgford and home.
Derek must also have returned by the same route as Geoff and I a day or so later (unless he returned in luxury by train!)
                                                                                                Total    416 miles

You have to remember the date when Dad and his gang undertook their ride. Forget busy roads filled with too many noisy cars and smelly trucks, and imagine a quieter more rural age, with quiet empty lanes, and with cars being outnumbered by trains, horses and agricultural vehicles. As Mick points out, the M1, the world’s first motorway,  hadn’t even been built yet. Even on today’s busy and sometimes smelly roads, my heart soars when flying along on a beautiful day in, and I have some sense of how much freedom they felt from riding on emptier and quieter roads in my own childhood.

The part that remains vague, despite Mick’s detailed account is exactly where and when Dad did his 100 mile ride – his One Tonner. This was the part of his story which which had me most in awe as a child, wondering how anyone could possibly ride that far. It was pretty close to exactly 100 miles from Dad’s parent’s house in West Bridgford, a suburb of Nottingham, to his Aunt in Bridlington and I am quite sure this was where he rode. But I’m also sure the ride can’t have been on the way back from the 1948 youth hostelling trip after they parted ways in Bridlington. The reason being that I do remember him telling me he tried to ride back to Nottingham from his Aunt’s once but it was so windy around the Humber, he turned back and got the train home. So I think it most likely that his One Tonner was a ride to Bridlington, and therefore took place on a different occasion. 

Many thoughts pass through my mind during the moments of peaceful contemplation when out cycling, and Dad and his cycling stories are often among them. They’ve just announced that the date of the PPA One Tonner for this year will be 14th October. It’s a ride I have wanted to do for a number of years, and if fitness prevails, I’ll be joining my DC Team on it as part of our training. Even though we’ll be working as a group, probably at a pace above which I’m completely comfortable I’m sure thoughts of Dad’s One Tonner will be with me along the way. I also hope that one day, something of what I do or a story I tell serves as such a fond and enduring memory to our own son.

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OCD

If you asked Yoli about me I’m pretty certain that, in amongst some good qualities which she would hopefully mention, would be the fact that I am an obsessive worrier. I prefer to think of it as just being careful about planning, but Yoli’s assessment is I suspect closer to the truth. In all the years I have been travelling on business, I can’t remember ever missing a flight. I can, however, recall many times arriving at an empty checkin desk hours before departure to the amused look of the attendant who is more used to seeing doddery pensioners allowing hours more time than they need than smartly dressed business men. The only time I came close to missing my plane was because I arrived so early that everything was closed and I fell asleep waiting for the desks to open. Even then, my internal worry clock woke me just in time to make the flight.

My ability to obsess over things doesn’t just extend to travel. Any significant purchase ends up being endlessly researched, sometimes re-reading the same reviews and opinions multiple times to see if I missed some subtle point that might mean the item in question looked a a better or worse fit than an initial cursory read had suggested. Yoli had been winning the battle to get me to just buy stuff we needed and not worry so much until a spate of recent impulse purchases went bad, all of them needing to be returned, arguments with shop owners, refunds, credits and shopping for replacement items. To be fair though, the refund arguments were very few, in this day of internet shopping it’s good to see that a number of our local shops realise their edge is now service and there’s no quibbling over faulty or inadequate items. None of that helps Yoli though, I’m now worse than ever on wanting to research every tiny facet before the plastic comes out.

What has all this got to do with cycling you may be wondering? Well, if you hadn’t already gleaned it from the preceding entries, planning and acquiring the components for Jolly has been a perfect case in point. The one significant impulse buy I made during this last year’s heightened interest in cycling was the Easton wheels, and that went south in a bad way.

The ramifications of my Easton issues are still rumbling on too. Helderberg Cycle World and Omnico have been excellent and replaced the wheels, but my lack of confidence in the wheels means they are sitting in the garage unused, still wrapped and boxed. That has left me riding the old Shimano wheels from Merry, and scrambling around trying to get both my audax wheelset and my new general training and racing wheelsets sorted. And by “scrambling around” I of course mean obssessive worrying and large dollops of internet reading. Luckily many of our favourite TV series have recently ended, so the latter has mostly been done on the couch with with some trashy show on as background noise.

I have at last, I think, come to some decisions though – which will no doubt be a big relief to Yoli who is sick to her teeth of hearing about this rim, and that hub, or these spokes. Of course the names of these have about as much meaning to her as any brand of fashion would have to me, but despite that she mostly manages a smile and an encouraging nod rather than a “what the hell are you asking/telling me this for?“, which frankly would be more than justified.

And the winners are …


Choosing components for the audax wheels wasn’t difficult. There are a few tried and tested formulas, and it’s way simpler to follow one of these rather than, well, reinvent the wheel. I’ve opted for Mavic Open Pro rims, 32H front and 36H rear, laced with double butted spokes to Hope Pro3 hubs. For audax use strength outweighs lightness, hence the high spoke count, although the Mavic rims themselves aren’t particularly heavy. Hope hubs have a reputation for durability under harsh conditions, thanks in part to their sealed bearings. In fact, I will have an extra 32H front rim laced to a SON Dynamo hub, also a standard component on many audax machines. This wheel will get used for rides likely to have long night-time sections, which will include PBP since it starts at night. It’ll also quite probably get used on LEL too, given it is intended as a dress rehearsal for all of the equipment I plan to use on PBP.

It’s proved much harder to decide on a replacement for my Eastons since I want something that is both strong enough for everyday training and light enough for “racing” – by which I mean PPA rides where I care about my time, since I’m nowhere near fast enough to be actually racing anyone apart from my own shadow. The problem though, is not that there are few wheels which fit this bill, but there are way way too many. If you believe the marketing blurb, practical every wheel you can buy is “tough enough for training, yet fast enough for racing”. Frankly, most aren’t – my Eastons being a classic case in point. They were wonderfully fast on timed rides, but just didn’t seem to be able to soak up the day to day punishment. Maybe I’m just rough on my wheels, but whatever the cause it’s made me cautious of lightly spoked, race oriented wheels. In the end, despite the horrendous shipping costs from the UK, I decided to go with Velocity A23 rims, 24H front and 28H rear laced to Dura Ace 7900 hubs with Sapim CX-Ray bladed spokes. I had the hubs already, which helps offset some of the cost, as does the ability to sell my replacement Eastons at an “as new” price, since they are actually still new and unused. The bladed spokes are a bit of an extravagance, but their reduced weight and reputation for toughness were hard to resist. Plus of the many reviews I read on the A23 rims, most were laced with bladed spokes. This included some guys who had pounded them on dirt roads and muddy tracks without issues or breakages. It seems not everyone believes they need a a mountain bike to go offroad.

So there you have it – hours of research and dithering, boiled down to two short paragraphs. Yoli can heave a sigh of relief that the ear bending is over and the topic is done, and I can look forward to getting the new wheels built and tried out. Hopefully this won’t take long as being reduced to one set of wheels has held me back from setting Merry up as a permanent fixture on my newly acquired indoor trainer – a Tacx Bushido. And no, you don’t want to know how much prevarication that decision took, although I will write up some notes once I’ve had a chance to try it out.

On the positive side for Yoli, with this behind me I can start to work on that weatherproof bits and bobs cupboard for her vegetable garden, which has been overdue now since April. And, as it inevitable willl, when that process becomes a maze of interlinking options and decisions needing to be contemplated, at least it’ll be on a topic vaguely of interest to her.

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Solo

Sometimes you just need to get out and ride. Not because you’re trying to get away from anything. Quite the reverse, because you’re trying to get towards something. Yourself.

Don’t get me wrong, the last few Wannabees club rides have been great, even the ones in the rain. But this weekend I needed to ride, and with a proper grown up evening planned in Cape Town Saturday evening followed by  a night in the Grand Daddy Hotel, Saturday morning was always going to be my best opportunity for riding.

The weekend club rides can be a bit too frantic for my tastes, too much pent up energy from the working week blasting off at a heated pace. With a cold start to the day forecast, but fabulous sunny weather later I decided to fall back to a solo ride starting at a more relaxed 8am. In the end, it was a shade after nine as my wheels rolled out of the gate, accompanied by a “ride safe” from Yoli and a “are you going to go large fast daddy?” from Ben.

One thing I did keep consistent with a club ride was starting out down the hill. This was going to be a relaxing solo ride on a gorgeous sunny winter’s day, so a quad crunching climb up the hill did not fit the bill nearly so well as a whiz down followed by an easy loosening spin up Old Stellenbosch Road. A cheesy grin was already stuck on my face even before I reached cruising pace out along the R44. Today’s ride would be  a gentle 70km odd out to Klapmuts and back – an old favourite route from Argus training rides earlier this year, and one I hadn’t ridden since.

Coasting into Stellenbosch, my first reaction to the parked cars scattered both sides of the road was that there must be a school rugby game on. Then I noticed the bike racks hung off the back of pretty much every car and remembered it was the Die Burger mountain bike race today.. What amazing weather I thought for the riders, given the rain and storms of the past few weekends.  Our paths crossed a number of times on the road out of Stellenbosch, as the MTB trail zigzagged between farm trails on either side of the R44.

The riding was surprisingly easy despite keeping up a reasonable pace, no doubt helped by my training these last few weeks. And somewhere just between Krom Rhee road and Kanonkop it happened. The peace and quiet of riding with only my own inner voice for company caught up with me on the road right there, and suddenly I realised how much I’d missed riding solo: time to sit up and enjoy the view, with no distractions apart from the rhythmic whir of pedals and humming wheel hubs; time to think, and be alone with those thoughts.

Something wonderful happened over the remaining forty kilometres or so of riding – a whole host of murky and tangled issues that had been troubling me over the past few weeks unravelled themselves and everything became simple and clear again. It’s something of a cliché to say it was a life changing ride, but in this case it would be absolutely true – quite literally, although exactly why will have to be the subject of a future entry. For now all I can really say is that something else I learned today is that through all the club rides and training, I won’t be losing sight again of the pleasure and enjoyment of the occasional ride alone, for no other reason than the pure pleasure of cycling.

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What the LEL?

“You’re seriously going to enter that?”

Hent’s view on my audaxing interests had mellowed a shade from his comment about me being mad at the beginning of this blog. He and Lanie were over for dinner last Saturday evening and our conversation had moved from cycling in general, to some stunning Joberg2c footage which had been used on a recent Avis TV ad. Hent raised an eyebrow at the 900km in 9 days schedule which prompted me to mention my intention to enter LEL (London-Edinburgh-London) next year. As we talked more, it dawned on me that I haven’t really mentioned LEL here on the blog.

Two or three months back Yoli and I were having dinner at one of our favourite restaurants, Taste just outside Somerset West on the R44. For a day or so I’d been wondering about whether LEL would be a good idea, but I knew there was no point considering it unless Yoli was comfortable with the idea. Given that we have work, family and friends in the UK, it’s not a difficult trip to combine with other things and no shortage of things to do whilst there.

A few things had sparked my interest in LEL. First of those was the distance – at 1,400km it’s actually longer than PBP albeit with an extra day allowed to compensate for that. The next attraction is that it is two years before the next PBP event in 2015. Whilst that may make it a tad ambitious in terms of my training, it will give me valuable practical experience of what a long audax event entails, allowing time to improve and refine my ideas on equipment and preparations before PBP. And finally, there is the question of whether I am made of the right stuff to complete these long audax rides. Hopefully LEL will help me answer that question before committing myself to the qualifying brevets and the final stages along the road to PBP.

Luckily, Yoli is extremely understanding and tolerant of my cycling addiction and immediately grasped the logic of adding LEL to the DC as training stages towards PBP. Although maybe the candlelit ambience, Anton’s excellent food and Ed’s superb wine helped get the idea across too.

So that’s how LEL came into the planning of my journey to Paris, and hardly a day goes by without some aspect of the going through my mind. The most often areas I find myself contemplating aren’t actually the cycling at all – I can train for that. The trickier parts to gauge are what a workable sleeping and eating pattern will be. I know from reading many accounts of PBP experiences that, aside from injury, over tiredness and lack of nutrition are big dangers as the hours and days wear on. An average speed of 20 KM/h sounds easy until you think about doing it five days in a row. Actually for LEL the real average is closer to 14 KM/h but you need to get out ahead of that speed to eke out time to eat and sleep, not to mention contingency for mechanicals.

For now though, it’s all about building the kilometres towards the DC. It’s been hard at times to get out training lately, especially with some very wet riding. But the looming prospect of a tough team 200km ride in November and needing to make a final decision on LEL by Jan 5th 2013 have served as more than enough motivation to keep cycling.

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Bad wheels, or bad luck?

Under any other circumstances, sitting outside on a sunny winters day at Rooi Els with a cup of cappuccino to complement the stunning views would more than enough to put a smile on my face. But when it is winter, and sunny days are rare, sitting looking at views is not something I’d trade for enjoying them from the saddle of my bike. And enjoying my midweek ride is just what I had been doing until my Easton EA 90 SLX wheels let me down again.

I’d made a concious decision to lead the group up the climb back from Betty’s Bay. It’s fairly long but not steep, making it perfect for settling into a nice brisk pace to spin up to the top. Being just four riders we ended up riding in twos: Penny alongside me at the head; and John and Tom tucked on our wheels behind. Energy wise, I’d judged the haul up well – as we crested the top I was starting to feel the effort in my lungs, although my legs still felt strong and energetic.

Starting the free-wheel down I was looking forward to seeing how well I would last the remaining few hills, given my recent lack of training and the decent pace we had kept up. But around halfway down I heard an ominous crack, followed immediately by a wobbling front wheel. I instantly knew it was another broken spoke, having had exactly the same experience at the end of the Wellington Lions ride back in February. I’m a fairly cautious (in other words slow!) descender, and Penny and John were already too far ahead to hear me cry out “mechanical“. Tom pulled alongside as my bike rapidly slowed under the involuntary braking of the no longer round front wheel. He graciously offered to wait with me, but there was really no point him also spoiling his ride so I bid him farewell and asked him to let the others know what had happened when he caught up with them.

Luckily Yolandi was at home, and the hour it took her to reach me passed quite quickly with the views, my coffee, and my inbox to work through. I wasn’t happy though: two spoke breakages in 8 months and less than 2,000km of usage is just not what I’d expected from high end wheels. Especially since everything else about them I like – they’re very light and spin very fast. But durable they are not, at least not the set I have.

Having done some internet research – it seems that there are many happy customers, with lots of distance on these wheels and no problems. There is no shortage of other unhappy riders though whose experiences pretty much exactly mirror mine – multiple and repeated spoke breakages with relatively low usage, and also loosening hubs which is something I had to get fixed just last week. So I’ve lobbied Helderberg Cycle World to try and get me either a replacement set or a refund from Omnico, the SA distributors. Hopefully I’ll get a rock solid set in replacement, and will be able to report back that I was unlucky with a defective set.

26 Jul 12 – Postcript to original entry:
Yet another case of superb service from Helderberg Cycles and Omnico, they replaced the wheels with a brand new boxed set. I can’t really say whether my set were just defective, or there is something inherent in the Easton’s that doesn’t suit my riding, but it’s great to have the support of my LBS and the importer in getting me a replacement set.


Photos from Easton website

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Rain, Rain …

Rule #5 – Harden The F*ck Up


Rule #9 – If you are out riding in bad weather it means you are badass. Period.

Source: the rules as laid down by the Velominati, Keepers of the Cog.
Today was definitely a day for contemplating both of these rules, and they were cited on a few occasions to cheer our small group of riders and prevent further defections to home or a coffee shop due to the inclement conditions.

Even though they disagreed on how much, and when it would start, every forecast was predicting a cold morning with some rain. With little doubt of a downpour, it was clearly a perfect day to break out the Endura Flyte jacket for it’s inaugural ride, the only one of the items brought over on Mum’s visit not to have been road tested yet. In theory, this jacket should be more water and windproof than my lightweight jacket or gilet, albeit at the expense of portability. Once on, the jacket needs to stay on as it does not fold down small enough to go in a jersey pocket. So you need to be pretty sure it will be cold and/or wet enough that the jacket will be needed for the whole ride.

Along with the new jacket, I also put on my Deluge Zipless overshoes and FS-260 leg warmers. Both of these have had one previous outing and proved their value at beating the cold, but this would be their first test in the rain.

I must confess, as I started down the road with all my layers on I was almost too warm. But even in the dark of the morning, I could just make the outline of some fairly ominous looking clouds in the sky. Sure enough, swinging right at the lights into Main Road and heading towards our meeting point at Waterstone Village a few small half-hearted spots of rain were already drifting lazily on the air. It was easy to ignore them at first as we chatted in the car park, but even before we started off a steadily increasing drizzle was glinting in the gathering beams of headlights arriving for the ride. By the time we reached Beach Road in Strand the drizzle had turned into full on rain – so much for the forecasts which had suggested we would stay dry until 11 o’clock.

A quick stop and confer and it was agreed that with nearby Gordon’s Bay hidden by a blanket of cloud and rain, the coast road would not make for a pleasant ride. Not willing to abandon the ride though, the decision was made to change our route and we swung back and headed for Vlaberg. Conditions did not improve by heading inland though, and as we span wetly along our new route each junction we crossed saw a fresh crop of riders elect to turn for home. By the time we left the R102 the attrition was complete: our group had been culled to seven or eight die hard riders, buoyed along by a consensus that since we were already wet we may as well just keep going.

I was surprised how easily my legs span up the first ramp of the Vlaberg climb, but three and a half weeks off the bike for our holidays caught up with me on the second ramp and it was a slow crawl to the top and the waiting group of riders. Flying down the Stellenbosch Arterial, a mix of road spray and rain made for a solid drenching. Penny commented that it was surprisingly exhilarating, which in a weird way it was: it’s not every day you get to take a 45km/h shower.

The remainder of our ride home from Stellenbosch was a bit of a struggle – my legs felt good, but lack of saddle time definitely showed in my energy levels. Our usual coffee stop was abandoned by consensus. None of us wanted to stop and allow the wet and cold seep in deeper and then have to get back on the bikes again. So we pedalled briskly for home, and bid our farewells as we peeled off the R44 at our various exit points.
 

Back home, after over two hours of solid riding in the rain, it was time to assess how the kit had performed. Wettest were my First Ascent gloves and shorts – to be fair, the shorts aren’t billed as water proof, but the gloves in theory are all weather outdoor gloves. They did keep my hands warm, but get a marginal thumbs down for waterproofing. My legs felt wet during the ride, but rather surprisingly peeling off the leg warmers they actually seemed quite dry. I suspect the close fit of the warmers had something to do with the sensation of being wet, so these get a solid thumbs up. My feet were warm and toasty all ride, but the boot covers and cycle shoes were a little damp. I suspect fitting my mudguards for an audax event would see much less road spray on the boots and drier feet as a result, so another thumbs up there. Last to come off was my jacket. My jersey was only slightly damp on the back and dry on the front, which given the conditions I’d rate as excellent. Oddly, my thermal vest was wetter than the jersey, so I must have been sweating more than I had realised. First prize for dryness though goes to my new Pocpac phone pouch – not only dry inside, but outside too, although that probably bears as much testament to the effectiveness of the Endura jacket as the actual pouch itself.

All in all it was a surprisingly memorable and enjoyable ride given the conditions. Without the camaraderie of the brave souls who stuck it out it would have been a miserable ride in foul weather. But the lively and friendly banter kept going the whole ride, lifting spirits and preventing anyone dwelling on the steady drenching of rain and road spray. Cheers folks!

All photos from Endura web-site

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Reasons to Ride

Many things were civilized about today’s ride to Franschhoek: the 8am start, not only an hour later but lighter, and with much less traffic; a beautiful day with sunny blue skies; a relaxed and friendly pace in our small group of mid-week riders.

Top of the list though has to be the midway coffee stop, and very specifically the excellent chocolate filled croissants. I need to backtrack at this point and explain that on our last ride to Franschhoek I foolishly let John guilt me out of ordering one. Excellent as the bran muffin was on that occasion, it left me hankering after a croissant ever since. The Betty’s Bay coffee shop makes a great coffee, but on our last trip out that way they only had muffins. So today, nothing was going to guide me away from some seriously loaded patisserie. Fortunately, it didn’t disappoint – fresh, light and delicious. The perfect accompaniment to a decent cappuccino.

The ride back was a joy – the wind which had slowed our progress into Franschhoek was firmly on our backs and made for easy riding back to the turn towards Helshoogte. On the steady rise up through Pniel, the day warmed noticeably, and with the strenuous and sweaty final climb still ahead of us we stopped to shed the last of layers of wind protection. My legs just didn’t have any drive in them today – Sunday’s 90km DC ride, followed by Monday’s hamstring exercises in the gym had left my legs heavy acheing. I just about managed to cling on to Penny’s wheel through to the summit of the pass, but there was no sprint left in the tank for the final stretch. The ride and day were far too nice for that to bother me though.

We kept up a nice steady pace through Stellenbosch and back to Somerset West and the ride was over all too soon. A great last ride before our vacation, one that leaves me looking forward to a nice break and the DC training programme kicking off in earnest when we return.

All photographs by author.