One Loose Nut

No. Not one related to the football season started, but another goal crossed of the list. This time it’s the number of hours in the saddle. One hundred hours in the saddle passed silently today and without ceremony. I can’t be absolutely sure where it happened as the GPS played up but it would have been somewhere on the B660 Kimbolton Road, probably where I lost half of my paraphernalia out of my back pockets onto the road. Fortunately my multi-tool was missed by two passing cars. As for the big one hundred? Well my derrière hurts today post-ride, but I think that this may be to do with the lack of riding followed by a big ride, although I could be wrong.

The day was always going to be a tough one: lots of family things to do and a deadline to be back home by 1030 or loose body parts. I want to do Keysoe and Langford as I am woefully behind on the villages for the year and clearing all by Christmas is looking bleak, but if I do the two it will be a 70 to 75-mile loop and with the aforementioned risk of losing limbs. So at 05:15 I am in the saddle with dawn only just breaking (where did the summer go?). To add to the darkness it’s been raining too and upwards rain will be a problem. It’s not long before downward rain becomes a problem too and at J12 of the M1 I stop top put on a jacket. I would like to say that it was a waterproof, but it really would not last more than a shower – it’s the added Dayglo that I need so that still-asleep drivers with windscreen wipers going have some chance of seeing me.

North of Ampthill the rain stops and I begin to dry. Bedford Burger King is still as it was over a month ago with no signs of being knocked down or repaired. In Bedford I am overtaken by a Farmfoods lorry (trailer reference T160). As we approach traffic lights and a left hand turn he decides to overtake. Now I am wary of the limited views that HGV’s have and the blindspots down the left, but this guy (or girl) passes, then turns left and can’t see where I am. I put on my brakes to prevent being a statistic and make a mental note not to shop at Farmfoods for a while.

On the road to Kimbolton it seems like a long time since I was this way cycling to Colmworth. My mind drifts into work, home, and all manner of thoughts. There’s little else to keep me entertained. Eventually I reach Keysoe.

A quick drink and check the phone. The GPS is showing Network Error. I seem to be getting this more often now and it’s either the app or Orange (or Android). I restart it, think of going to Langford, but decide that a 60-mile out and back may be enough for me today.

As I ride down the B660 I fumble around for my phone in the pocket and feel something drop out. I park the bike in front of a Driving Instructor’s Mini before running back down the road for my raincoat bag and multi-tool – both missed by passing traffic. Back at the bike it would appear the instructor is trying to find his client who is either still sleeping or has gone away for the weekend forgetting to cancel his lessons. The instructor lets me know that they pay regardless of whether they wake or not.

South of Bedford I pass a MTB’er: me on the road; he’s on the cycle path. As is the norm I offer English pleasantries but no response is forthcoming. Strange. Perhaps bike snobbery is at play. A mile later an I sense someone’s behind me. Close behind. It’s the MTB’er, still not talking but obviously wanting to mug me or overtake me. I put it onto the big front ring and pull away slowly. Very strange.

I am glad that I didn’t go for the extra town. Since Bedford my right knee is beginning to ache. I crawl up the hill before Ampthill and every incline thereafter. Never enough pain to get off, but almost walking speeds coming into Toddington. I coast down the hill to Bidwell and Houghton where I am greeted with a sudden downpour. Best part of 40 miles of drying out only to be soaked again as I am three miles from home. Damn. Still, at least I have my body parts.

59.9 miles – 4 hours 8 minutes – 14.5 mph average – Map

Yes, I know. It’s not the weekend, and I have already done a ride on Saturday and Sunday. But with half of the year gone I am less than 50 percent of the way through the 114 villages and towns and need to get a move on. So with kids in bed a quick look at Googlemaps and I can see that the next stop, Husborne Crawley, is a mere 12 miles or so down the road. Trying to memorise the route I note that I am to take the third right after getting on the road to Woburn. Not familiar with the turn I switch to satellite mode to see that it is the turn into Woburn Abbey, through the estate, and through Woburn Safari Park. Now I know that my average speed is on the increase, but I don’t fancy my chances against any of the big cats, let alone those windscreen wiper eating monkeys.

I put up with the route to Hockliffe along the A5, turning right to Woburn and stumble upon the illusive good sign from Hockliffe. A fancy sign comparatively on the west of the village. Clearly in a position to woo residents leaving Woburn into a false sense of security that they’re entering a place almost as nice as Woburn. Oh how dissappointed they will be.

Up the hill to Woburn and through the High Street before turning right to follow the perimeter of the Woburn Estate and aforementioned Lion enclosure. Googlemap indicates that Husborne Crawley is at the junction with the pub and the school but I know that half a mile down the road is a church. Off the road and up towards the rectory is the second contender in one week for the longest village sign. I note that my average speed is over 16mph, and it too 46 minutes, and mused could I make it home in the same time?

Returning back I push. None of those granny gears when the hills came: just out of the saddle and grunt. It rewarded me well. I came through Dunstable on the A5 like a man possessed. Pedalling like mad, trying to time the lights, and pushing up the hill to home. Puffing, sweating, but feeling good.

25 miles – 1 hour 32 minutes – 16.3 mph average – Map

You may not have noticed but I within my links on the right-hand side is “My Cycling Log.” I have been using it for three years now to plot my rides recording routes, speed, distance, calories, weight, and elevation. It has been a good way of seeing the highs and lows of when I get out (or when I don’t). One notable event statistic was that in 2008 and 2009 I never sat in the saddle in the month of May. All other months, but not May. But with the current challenges the charts now show a different story:

1. I have completed over 180 miles in May 2010;
2. at 958 miles in 2010 I have travelled further than 2008 or 2009;
3. I have spent more time in the saddle in 2010 than in any other year;
4. I am 0.4 mph faster on average than 2009, and 0.9 mph faster than 208;
5. I am 2.2 kg lighter on average than 2009, and 3.3 kg lighter than 2008;
6. I have burned more calories in 2010 than in 2009 or 2008 (obviously); yet,
7. in 2009 I climbed 10,000 feet more than 2010 to date.

There’s a public profile on My Cyling Log that you can see here.

With a busy day ahead and the only place to cycle to being Felmersham I had made my plans to get up early so that I can get back in time for family commitments. Before going to bed I gather the usual paraphernalia to make the morning a quick and quiet exit: lights (it’s going to be before sun-up); bottles; food bar; gloves; jacket; puncture kit; tools; helmet; lock… the list goes on. I place most of it near or on my bike only to be horrified that the rear tyre is flat! In that kind of crazy-hopeful way I pump it back to 100psi to see how quickly it goes down. No hissing and no obvious pieces of glass sticking out of the tyre = good. I go to bed knowing that if it’s gone down by the morning I’ll have to fix it before leaving, and that may delay me too much to still do the ride.

At 0400 I’m back up, dressed and breakfast had and the tyre is still inflated. Fully inflated (how does that work?)! It’s dark outside, but there is enough light around for me to not worry about putting on my main lights. I head off in the cool morning towards town. I wonder if I’ll catch any of the dregs of last night’s revellers making their way home and I’m not disappointed as a guy walks sideways, almost crab-like, across West Street barely holding on to a pizza box as he tops up his carb intake for the journey home. Turning the corner and up the A5 there’s a whole fleet of taxis waiting for people to come out of the pubs. It seems alien to me: whatever happened to drinking as quickly as you could on Friday night before they rang the bell and the cry of “last orders at the bar!”, followed by the decision of Cinderella’s or home?

Leaving Houghton Regis I come across the above Fiesta in a ditch at the side of the road. As I ride past I wonder if there’s anyone in the car. After all, it may have just happened, or may have happened during the night and the driver is still inside, unable to get out. My good Samaritan side of me takes over (OK, it was sheer nosiness) and I turn back. Being green and so far in the ditch the car is not easily visible to passing cars. I peer into the window to see vacant front seats and a wheelchair in the rear of the car. Even more bizarre.

Back in the saddle I come over the M1 only to find that the road to Westoning is closed for three days. Unsure if there’s sufficient paths to go through I dutifully follow the diversion adding a few unnecessary miles to an already long trip. Rejoining the road to Bedford north of Ampthill I see a fox run across the road ahead. The roads are remarkably quiet (only one person nutty enough to be on a bike at this time of the morn) and it seems that this is the window between revellers and the morning shoppers where animals get to move around. I have seen rabbits (aplenty), pheasants, badgers, a heron and an elephant. OK, the elephant was on a sign for Whipsnade Zoo so that may not count.

At Kempston I skirt the retail park where Burger King burned down to the ground. I suppose that this is now the “former home of the flame-grilled Whopper” now. I would have stopped for a photo but need to push on. I join the A6 through Bedford and out the other side. Near Clapham the road has been named “Paula Radcliffe Way.” I wonder if this is the name of the road all the way to Kettering (or for at least 26.4 miles) but disappointed to find out that it’s only a wee road. Hmmm…

I see signs for Bletsoe and it seems an age since I was last this far “north” then peel off the A6 and head to Radwell and Felmersham. Both villages are nearly surrounded by the river Ouse. Felmersham’s a picturesque place. Quiet at 7am and a 5-arch bridge over the river (see photo album). An information board points out the dates of the bridge and the fact that Radwell’s bridge has 7 arches. I don’t stop for long before returning along the same route back towards Flitwick.

Flitwick, pronounced ‘flee-tick’ is famous for being next to Ampthill and having a Tesco Store. I pass through the town looking for the usual town sign but cannot find one. My last resort is the one at the end of the road heading to Westoning… the one that goes to the closed road. Photo done I head past the “road closed ahead” signs concerned that I may be turned back. It would be a long ride back. When I get to the village 6 inches of road surface is missing from the whole of the village. I ride through on the path before dropping back onto the road at the other side. I now feel slightly foolish that I did not do this on the way out.

By 9am I am back home with another two towns off the list. Mrs OLN thinks I am mad. My kids think I am mad. I know.

58.8 miles – 4 hours 7 minutes – 14.3 mph average – Map

I shall not repeat the usual woes of late-to-bed preparations with fruit juice (of the fermented grape variety) nor how hard it was to get out of bed this morning for an early ride. But with a forecast of rain by 1030 I head off to seek out Elstow armed with jacket and trousers (instead of shorts, in case you thought that I was one of those nude cyclists).

I head back through Ampthill still fondly remembering it as the first village on the list and thinking now how easy it is to reach compared to January. Perhaps the fitness levels are improving, or perhaps sunshine and warmer days help. Off the back of the hill I watch out for a turn to Millbrook that I’ll be taking on my return from Elstow before passing what I assume to be the old brickworks where Google had suggested I go via (someone should tell Google that you’re not allowed in there… not without a hard hat).

I’m expecting to drop into Bedford and the A6 before heading back up a hill to Elstow but I’m pleasantly surprised to find that North of the A421 are the signs in the middle of the village of Elstow. John Bunyan country.

The bike is at the foot of the sign. If you don’t believe me go to the photo album page. Elstow’s engulfed by Bedford Town, yet has really old buildings and an idyllic green. I finish off my first bottle of water somewhat bemused by the lump of drink mix that’s congealed at the bottom then return from the way that I came in search of Eversholt.

Just after Steppingley (nice looking Indian Restaurant/ex-pub there) I hear bikes approaching from behind. Soon after four members of the Luton Cycling Club glide past with ease. The first two of the peleton pass without acknowledging me as if in some kind of bike snobbery (OK, so I wear cheap Lycra and don’t have drop-handle bars) but the next two are redeemed as they say hello as they pass. Perhaps the first two were unable to talk due to the effort they were putting into the ride? Now at the back of the group I feel the benefit of the peleton as my speed increases but it’s short lived as they peel off towards Westoning and I carry on to Eversholt.

I am really surprised by Eversholt. A sleepy village with a cricket pitch in the centre and what looks like a half decent pub (make a mental note to come back here). Getting on for midday I head back for home.

On the way out of Eversholt and joining the road from Woburn to Hockliffe I see a cyclist in the distance behind in red. Downhill to Hockliffe I keep the speed on before the climb out of the village down the A5. The cyclist still follows and I keep pedalling. Faster than I normally would. He’s on a racing bike and I can see slowly but surely his reeling me in and as I come through the chalk cutting into Dunstable he sits behind my wheel for an easy ride. I call out to ask where he’s been but with the wind I can’t here his response, but as we come into town we cycle side-by-side. In a kind of back-handed compliment kind of way he asks if I’m a road cyclist. I assume from this he is complimenting fitness or speed (but as I’m not on a mountain bike and on the road it was an easy guess on his part) or that I was a part of a cycling club at some point. He was around retirement age (sorry if you’re reading this and I’m wrong) and was off to marshal a road race in Oakley tomorrow. I was too embarrassed to let him know that I was pushing because I could see him catching me.

I find out that he lives on the same estate as me and we ride back together chatting all the way. I’ve got to say it was good having the company even if 20 years my senior he clearly had more speed in him than I. As we reach my turn I ask his name just in case I pass him on the road again: “John Adams” he replies. Sounds like a good name for a beer to me.

Rain forecast for tomorrow so I doubt if I’ll be back in the saddle.

42.6 miles – 2 hours 46 minutes – 15.4 mph average – Map

Every time that I go out for a long ride there’s always someone who overtakes without considering that there’s nothing to protect me in an accident, that there is all sorts of potholes, manholes and broken beer bottles at the edge of the road. Add to this that my feet are bolted to the pedals and that if I do need to stop quickly those skinny tyres hardly touch the ground, so I won’t be stopping too quickly. Hence when they do squeeze past or cut in quickly I occasionally drop my guard and make my feelings known (ignoring rule number one – don’t fight people in metal cages).

Whilst debating how much space our metal caged friends should give I was already aware that they should give a bike “as much as you would a car.” My interpretation of this was that you should give a three foot gap or the distance between you and the car you’re overtaking. How wrong could I be??? When pointed to rule 163 in the highway code it would seem that they should give the following distance for all “vulnerable” traffic, including cyclists:

Only my wife gives keeps that far away from me. Damn silly drivers don’t even know the highway code… not even this one.