2016: The journey continues
And so to another year as 2016 finally closes its doors. And it certainly didn't disappoint. Yet again Chris Froome rode off with the Tour de France yellow jersey, and with some panache too, whilst Mark Cavendish silenced his crfitics with four magnificent stage victories in the Tour before finally securing that elusive Olympic medal in the Omnium in Rio. Team GBs men and women were awesome yet again, with the Kenny's in particular cleaning up with 5 golds between them. Perhaps the rider of the year, though, for me was Steve Cummings who won some stunning races including our very own Tour of Britain.
From a personal perspective Helen and I have enjoyed busy years on the bikes. Helen rode more this year than any year previously, with the highlight being our 3-day 280km Way of the Roses trip across the heart of England as well as taking the bikes to Ireland. As for myself, a return to Mallorca and a week in the pyrenees for one last visit to the Pyractif HQ before Chris and Helen sailed off into the sunset were obvious highlights. By the end of December I had, once again, clocked up over 12000 km, which came as some surprise to me as earlier in the year such a figure seemed very distant.
So, this is what happened in 2016... Read on and see how our cycling year turned out.
December 31st 2016: Happy New Year
So much for 2016 then. In many ways I will not be unhappy to see the back of this year, but there have been some notable highlights to look back on. The last week or so has been quiet with little to reflect on other than a trio of short local rides in both Cheshire and Cumbria to wind down the year. In the end Helen and I didn't even manage a Christmas ride together as the weather took a bit of a nosedive and sadly kept us off the bikes. No matter, it has been an opportunity to start our planning for 2017 and high on the agenda will be a trip to the Dordogne next July with friends to sample the cycling delights in what promises to be a stunning part of France. Can't wait.
Totals for December
Distance ridden: 723km
Total ascent: 5627m
Total Figures for 2016
Distance ridden: 12,332km
Total ascent: 119,981m
Best rides: From a personal perspective 2016 has given me many pleasurable outings but particular highlights have been the Mallorca 312 (again), despite poor weather and a lack of fitness, along with the stunning ride up to Lac de Cap de Long in the Pyrenees, a ride in such amazing surroundings it really did take my breath away. And an honorable mention must go to the half day outing over the Devils Beeftub back in March on a beautiful spring day on quiet remote Scottish roads with scenery to match. But it was the Way of the Roses with Helen that I think gave me the most pleasure, despite some unhelpful conditions completing this inside 3 days was a wonderful achievement for Helen and took us through some stunning parts of the country.
December 21st 2016: Happy Christmas
Christmas is nearly here and the end of another year is just around the corner, a sobering thought. Just where has 2016 disappeared? As Rapha and Strava challenge athletes to sign up to another 500km challenge between Christmas and New Year the weather forecasters have brought their seasonal glad tidings with the news that Storm Barbara is upon us and that the best place to be at Christmas is probably in front of the fire with a glass of wine/beer/sherry and a good book. Personally I shan't be signing up, though I may well be champing at the bit after a couple of days off the bike and will probably hope to sneak out for the odd cheeky ride between the squally showers. As it is, every ride out at the moment is accompanied by almost an equal amount of time spent hosing down and cleaning both the bike and me - it is truly unbelievable the amount of muck on our roads in both Cumbria and Cheshire at the moment and mudguards seem to have very little effect.
Yet again I find myself having tipped over the 12000km for the year milestone, last week, something I did not feel was at all likely earlier in the year. Perhaps this is a sign of too much time on my hands (though I don't think so), although only working 2.5 days a week does give me more opportunity which is welcome. My riding at this time of year is generally unstructured and depends entirely on mood and disposition, I'm certainly not riding with anything next year in mind at the moment. Yesterday was a case in point as Cal and Kev joined me for a social outing in the Eden Valley, winding our way along the foot of the Pennines to the delightful Mrs Miller's at Culgaith where they served up an amazing turkey dinner (it is Christmas week after all) to slow us down on our return, by the end of which I had notched up another 102km, all of which was an enjoyable pootle in good company, what cycling is about much of the time for me. We finished in the dark, lights blazing and smiles on our mud-splattered faces. A grand day out indeed.
Thoughts are now turning to 2017 and what adventures might lay in store. The annual "boys" trip to the sun has been organised, this time we are returning to mainland Spain and the environs of Calpe for a week in March to spot the pro-teams and enjoy the quiet smooth roads of the Marina Alta mountains inland from the Costa Blanca. It has been some years since we explored this region so it will feel fresh and challenging enough with a number of Vuelta climbs nearby. Helen and I have talked about a week in the Dordogne region of France where the culture and scenery are stunning and taking the bikes with us would be a given. And in the last few days I have warmed to the idea of finally getting round to ticking off the Stelvio, which has been on my list for longer than I care to remember. In my 60th year it would make a fitting focus. Watch this space!
December 1st 2016: The end is nigh
November has slipped quietly away, the onset of the colder wetter weather has meant fewer opportunities to get out on the bikes and in the end I managed a scant 11 outings in what has been my quietest month since January. Nevertheless I am creeping slowly tward the 12000km mark for 2016 which will be a memorable milestone assuming I get there. Helen too has only managed a handful of rides but is having her best year yet. Today's ride was another metric century in rather fine (if cold) weather and ticked off the 12th (and last) Strava Gran Fondo of 2016, as I've mentioned before it does encourage me to get out when otherwise I might not. Actually, last week was the first time for 2 years that I have gone a whole week without riding the bike, preferring instead to walk the fells as the frost and snow hit. It has been spectacular.
Last month saw the 2016 season reach a climax with the six day events in London and then Ghent, with Wiggo and Cav enjoying some spectaular success in both events. They eventually finished second in London but went one better in Belgium, securing the top spot in the final sprint of the final race on the Sunday evening, a fitting end to Sir Bradley's racing career. Except it probably isn't as he now looks set to carry on in 2017. Once a cyclist always a cyclist!
Totals for November
Distance ridden: 605km
Total ascent: 4690m
November 10th 2016: After autumn comes winter
So, here we are well into November, the clocks have gone back and we have had the first significant snow of the winter up in the Lakes. After a spectacular autumn it has all come as a bit of a shock. The time has come to dig out the winter tights and gloves and some extra base layers and fit the mudguards and overshoes - a hazard of cycling round country roads is the preponderance of country muck everywhere! Today was a case in point as we got through several seasons in one day - the sun, wind rain and hail were not unexpected but certainly made the ride round our Cheshire lanes a challenging one. The many rainbows that made an appearance were a nice bonus. The summer fitness seems to have disappeared with the long summer evenings and these days I definitely feel a 100km ride - the old legs are tired tonight.
Those autumn colours have certainly been pretty stunning and I have been carrying a camera with me on most rides until the last week when the stronger winds brought an end to the spectacle. A couple of weeks ago Helen and I rode out to Ness Gardens on the Wirral to check out the autumn colours there (and sample the excellent cake on offer). Earlier that same weekend I enjoyed a 100km jaunt again with the camera and found several excellent views worthy of a 5 minute stop. It reminds me that there is more to riding a bike than watching the front tyre and recording the ride on Strava, though I am a bit of a stickler for the latter. We were lucky enough to enjoy the company of Ned Boulting in Liverpool last night and he too made the point that perhaps we should spend less time worrying aout the Strava effect and our kudos and spend more time actually savouring the ride, something I do try to do.
On the pro scene it has been an interesting two or three weeks as we have enjoyed first the World Road championships in a very hot and sultry Qatar, then this last weekend the track riders have bee notching up yet more success in Glasgow in the opening round of the World Cup. The World Road Races were pretty boring fare apart from the last 10km or so as the sprinters wound up for the finish. Lizzie Deignan was overwhelmed as Amalie Dideriksen stole a march on most of the favourites and won the women's race, whilst Peter Sagan and Mark Cavendish went head-to-head as expected in the men's race with Sagan emerging a worthy winner, much to Cav's disappointment. In Glasgow it was an opportunity for Team GB's B team to shine as many of the successful Olympic team took time out. They didn't disappoint, scooping 5 gold medals to finish comfortably at the head of the medal table which should make team selection interesting when the A team return. Perhaps the highlight was Katie Archibald and Manon Lloyd rode a thrilling race (after an early crash) to win the inaugural women's madison on the final sprint, Madison racing at its very best.
Totals for October
Distance ridden: 1091km
Total ascent: 9340m
October 21st 2016: The Haytor Experience
October has been a surprisingly benevolent month, weather-wise, as we finally seem to be enjoying what aounts to some late summer weather, a real Indian summer perhaps. Mild, plenty of sunshine and just the odd shower to deal with. Last weekend, a torrid forecast for Sunday in Northamptonshire turnedout to be a lovely day after a wet night and gave me the chance to take the bike out for a first ever foray round the gentle and pleasant rolling Northamptonshire countryside. There have been plenty of café ride opportunities too, with Helen keen to get out and ride and we have been joined on occasion by Pete and Sharon too.
This weekend Paul and I find ourselves down in south Devon for a couple of days. Surprisingly enough there was just enough room in the car for a couple of bikes, and we seem to have been blessed with two fine sunny days. Nearby lies the beautiful rolling countryside that is Dartmoor, always a delight to explore especially when the autumn colours are making an appearance. Paul and I are frequent flyers on the Tour of Britain climb to Haytor, it lies less than 10km away and we had a couple of hours at the end of the day so headed out, with lights, to hurt ourselves on its fearsome slopes. It is easy to see why the use this on the TOB, the climb is challenging with several steep ramps, including one of 17%, but as you climb through the sheltered woods to emerge onto the moor the views of Haytor and south over toward Torbay and the coast certainly make the suffering worthwhile. As usual, Paul rode away from me as I tried to keep him in sight, although his fitness currently is probably well below his best, and by the summit he was some 20 seconds in front. The light was beginning to dip as the sun slowly sank out to the west and some clouds were building. It was still a mighty fine view. Unusually, today we continued on and down the excessively steep hill into the renowned village of Widecombe-in-the-Moor, with its impossble high church tower and pretty village green. The usual tourist hoards had long gone as the day was petering out so we had the place pretty much to ourselves. From here there is a long climb north back onto the higher moors north of Manaton, a quiet backroad bereft of traffic and a joy to ride. We waited for a herd of cows who were slowly crossing near a farm before continuing into Manaton and beginning the long descent back to Bovey Tracey, our lights now showing the way as dusk fell. By now the temperatures were plummeting too, a reminder that autumn is upon us and a frost was forecast so perhaps not a surprise. By the time we got back to base it was properly dark, but we were happy. It was a rollercoaster ride over some of the best Dartmoor has to give.
October 1st 2016: A Pyrenean Pootle
I do like the mountains. I love the splendid and spectacular scenery they offer up. I love the jagged peaks and the green pastures. And I love the winding, clambering roads which lead the adventurous into the rarified atmosphere of the cols and ridges of the high mountains. And the Pyrenees have all this in abundance. And when the sun shines, as it did for me last week pretty much non-stop, there are few finer places to ride a bike.
Flying into Toulouse on Saturday evening, an hour late courtesy of Easyjet and the air traffic control boys, and the weather portents were not great. Sunday morning seemed to confirm this with grey skies and a promise of rain pretty much all day. We'll skip over the cockup I made of my bike rebuild which rendered the Di2 mechanism unusable, fortunately Chris and Helen were able to provide me with a suitable replacement so all was not lost and I set out fully expecting a soaking. It never came. Day 1 was all about the Col des Ares, it is pretty much a legal requirement to take this in as the first climb on any trip to the Pyrenees. So I did. And it is a great way to get back into the swing of riding those Pyrenean climbs, 8km at about 5%, not unlike Hartside really but more cosy. The rest of the ride was a gentle meander round the back lanes of the Pyrenean foothills to the south of St Gaudens, taking in some roads that I've not ridden before. A brief 10 minute shower threatened to spoil the party but didn't last. Before I knew it I had clocked up over 70km and I felt like I was back in the swing. Bring on the big mountains.
Monday saw the clouds roll back and blues skies roll in. I felt ambitious and opted for the mighty Superbagneres, a monster HC climb out of Luchon, hardly ever used on the Tour but worthy of a lingering visit. The 25km ride up the valley to Luchon, into the trademark headwind as ever, served as a warmup and I hit the slopes of Superbagneres running. Early on it is a bit of a brute then settles into a rhythm that takes you up the side of the mountain overlooking the Lys valley and the dramatic peaks encircling the pastures. Some pretty heavy winter weather has left its mark with road and bridge damage in a number of places now subject to ongoing repair, not enough to hamper progress. As I rode ever higher the views got ever more stunning and I found myself in danger of wearing out my camera.It is some 18km to the summit from Luchon and it saves the worst till last as the road ramps up viciously for the final kilometer. This was my third time to the summit and every time the hotel, bars and restaurants have been shut. Today was no different. Just where was I going to get a coffee or a cheeky beer? There was little choice but to grab a few photos and plunge into what must surely be the most enjoyable descent in the Pyrenees, swooping and sailing down the smooth roads enjoying the vistas as I went. I turned aside into the upper Lys valley and, by chance, found a little hut serving crepes and beer for ramblers visiting the nearby waterfall. Superbagneres' loss was their gain and I sat and enjoyed a quiet 15 minutes reliving the climb and descent in my mind before dropping back down to Luchon and cruising back down the valley (still into that blessed headwind), and darting up Col des Ares before rolling back into Chateau Pyractif. Great day.
Tuesday and the sunshine continued to wash over the Pyrenees. Temperatures were what can only be described as comfortable with shorts and sunblock the order of the day. This is just what I had ordered. Chris and Helen and some spare time and offered a social ride and led me out along the Garonne cycleway to the nearby town of St Gaudens, ducking and diving down country lanes and enjoying some quiet villages before the unnecessarily steep ramp up into St Gaudens town centre where we found a comfortable alfresco cafe in the main square. Next up was the run south through Miramont and past cornfields and woodland into the mountains, climbing eventually into the market square of Aspet where the Cafe Francais was open as ever and it was cheeky beer time. By now some cloud was bubbling up, nothing serious but enough to take the edge off my suntan. I supped my beer, bade Chris and Helen a fond adieu and sallied forth up the valley toward Ger and the climb over the Col de Mente, an old favourite. The eastern side offers up some wonderful valley views but is by no means a gimme, 11km at just about 8%, with a flurry of hairpins some 3 kilometers from the summit. The last kilometer is in forest and seems to drag on forever until, quite suddenly the summit sign appears and the work is done. And, miracle of miracles, the summit cafe was open. Time for another coffee and time to reflect on another climb revisited. The descent to St Beat is another enjoyable one, with plenty of technical tarmac to keep it interesting, but also opportunities to let the bike go on long straight sections. Nice. A fitting end to the day's fun in the saddle.
Wednesday, and my week is already over halfway. After the cloudy end to Tuesday it was good to see the sun return with temperatures up in the mid twenties. More sunblock required. Chris had suggested that he, Helen and myself head up to the Lac de Cap de Long, a climb which has long been on my to-do list. Last year the weather thwarted Paul and me and we were unable to tick it off. We cheated a bit as Chris offered to drive us round to the next valley and park up in St Lary, thus shortening the ride in by some 50km. Well, I'm hardly likely to turn up a chance like that. A lazy start to the day, with a magazine and a few morning coffees – this is what holidays are all about – and then we were off. In St Lary the heat of the day was sizzling and we set off up the valley toward Spain before turning off at Fabian onto the long climb up to the lakes. And what a climb it proved to be. Persistent tough slopes early on gave way to a series of hairpins and tantalising views of the mountains ahead and, yet again, the camera was very busy. Chris and Helen had long since dropped me as I enjoyed the views and snapped the shots. Eventually the road forks and I took the high road to Lac de Cap de Long, overlooking a feast of mountain scenery with a lower lake, Oredon, nestling below me. By now the road was higher than the Tourmalet and the air rarified, but I was drunk on scenery and didn't really notice it. Miraculously, for the end of September, the cafe at the barrage at the top of the climb was open and Chris and Helen were waiting for me, enjoying the breathtaking mountains views and the crepes. I did too, along with the obligatory cheeky beer. What a place. Chris and Helen left me, they had some work to attend to, and I made my leisurely way back down the long descent and back round the meandering D26 road to Chez Pyractif, but only after riding out across the barrage, a magnificent engineering feat which blends into the rugged and beautiful scenery up here at 2200 metres. It was truly like being in heaven!
Thursday and another sunny day in paradise. After some consideration I had opted for the D26 loop and heading over the Col de Peyresourde from the west, taking in the Peyragudes detour which Paul and I had “enjoyed” in a thunderstorm last year. The D26 is such a lovely route, it would be nice to package it and transport it to our back yard in Cumbria. From Arreau the main road climbs gradually up to Loudenvieille before the Peyresourde fork and I was back in Tour de France territory. On a day like today, it was hard to focus on the climb and not be distracted by the scintillating views. I failed and succumbed to the lure of the camera. Well, why not – I'm on holiday! The turn off to the Peyragudes ski “resort” changes the character of the climb with an unpleasant ramp of 10-12% before rounding the hillside into another valley and yet more amazing mountain views. This is getting repetitive, but that's what it was like. Peyragudes, like Superbagneres, was shut. It is hard to see why anybody would come here but bizarrely there were people strolling about in the village. I really am unsure as to why. The “summit” of the climb is a crappy car park about a kilometer out of the village, not the romantic finish to a climb you might envisage as you sweat and grind your way up the lower slopes. Ah well, next stop Crepes. A little pull over the back of the mountain dropped me down onto the Peyresourde just below the summit of the Col,home to the famous Peyresourde Creperie. This place should be on the “to visit” list of every cyclist to this region. It is legend. And on a day like today definitely a place to sit, linger and enjoy. I did. The descent to Luchon is fast, with long straights and a few technical turns, but today Iw as taking a turn some 6km out of Luchon and up the Port de Bales the “wrong way”, a road I have previously come down. I had company by now in the form of Ross, a Canadian staying with Chris and Helen, and we chatted and meandered our way up the long climb before finally topping out in the sunshine (unusual for me on the Bales). By now the day was getting on and we had just enough time to plunge down the long 18km descent to Mauleon Barousse and pootle our way back to Pyractif HQ, just in time for a welcome coffee and a chilled beer. Another top day in the saddle.
Friday, my last day, and it needed something special to finish off a special week. What better than the Hourquette d'Ancizan, a favourite place for Geraint Thomas who managed two spills here on the 2011 Tour de France on a stage which saw him come of age in Grand Tour races. Yet again I found myself on the D26, cruising gently through the rural Pyrenean foothills to Arreau before turning off at the small village of Ancizan. The climb kicks in straightaway and I was a tad daunted to begin with, but it settles down and the next 10km were a delight. This is yet another road I have come down, but not previously climbed. Not too steep, pleasant wooded roads offering the occasional valley views and a spectacular corniche section high above Ancizan before finally topping out high above the autumn coloured trees in Pyrenean pastures to be greeted by a gaggle of donkeys being goggled at by cyclists and ramblers alike. It was a tad bizarre. The views west to the mighty Pic du Midi were splendid, and once again it was camera action time. Down into Payolle where my tummy was telling me it was lunchtime, so I found a restaurant which was actualy open and tucked into a splendid omelette, plus (of course) a cheeky beer, to prepare me for the Col d'Aspin, my last climb of the week. It was a fitting end and I rested at the top to photograph the Aspin cattle and the descent to Arreau for which the Aspin is famous and which is laid out before you like a Scalextric track seen from the summit. The next 15 minutes were pure delight, this is a descent to savour and enjoy, not to rush. It is technical in places, but sweeps and swoops down into the valley far below in a way that lures you in. It is simply glorious. What a way to finish. By the end of the week I had clocked up nearly 650km and over 11000m of ascent. No wonder my legs were tired!
Totals for September
Distance ridden: 1529km
Total ascent: 18858m
September 22nd 2016: Pyractif here we come
With just one more day before I fly to the Pyrenees I am beginning to get excited at the propect of reacquainting myself with not only Chris and Helen, but also the mountains and names like Peyresourde, Aspin, Superbagneres and Portillon. The good news is that, in a dramatic twist, my best bike has been restored to health, the rear mech has been repaired and it is raring to go. Packing it away in my bike bag ready for the journey, I was pondering the wisdom of taking my own bike against that of hiring something over in France but, at the end of the day, you can't beat riding your own bike. And I do love my Domane 5.9. The weather forecast looks set fair for the second half of the week, so once we get the weekend out of the way I am hopeful of some long lumpy rides in the autumn Pyrenean sunshine. It's going to be fun.
I have found myself tapering a bit as the date of my trip approached. Having said that I have fitted in a couple of rides in excess of 115 kilometers including one enjoyable ride down into the Lakes and over Whinlatter. At the moment September looks set to be my best riding month of the year by the time I've added a week in the mountains. Perhaps the best fun though was when the Tour of Britain came to town back at the beginning of the month. Paul and I both had the day off, so after heading up to Carlisle to catch the riders at the stage start, we legged it in the car down into the north Lakes before getting the bikes out and riding down to Ullswater to see the peloton ride by, first up the Aira Force climb to Dockray hardly breaking sweat it seemed, and then grinding our way up the steep and, by now, clouded slopes of Kirkstone Pass to join the masses waiting for the riders to reappear on the Struggle, a nasty cat 1 climb out of Ambleside. The atmosphere was tremendous as thousands waited in the drizzle and murk for a glimpse. It was dramatic stuff too as the breakaway was by now in pieces and Rohan Dennis and Steve Cummings were making their bids for the stage (Cummings finished second in the end behind Julien Vermotte down in Kendal). An ambulance stalled on the hairpin at the top of the climb to add to the drama with dozens of roadside fans helping to push it up round the corner before the next riders appeared. Bradley Wiggins even managed to inject some humour by dismounting and running with his bike in the manner of Chris Froome on Mont Ventoux . All good stuff. And then they were gone and we were easing our way gingerly back down a greasy Kirkstone Pass and back to the car, heading for home and watching it all again on the TV highlights. Cracking day.
September 3rd 2016: Viva La Vuelta!
Here we are into September, 2016 is simply flying by. And hot on the heels of the Tour de France and the Olympics here we are already half way through an enthralling Vuelta a Espana. For the first time in what seems a long time we have a real contest between probably the two best Grand Tour riders in the world as Nairo Quintana and Chris Froome are slugging it out, seemingly in a different class from the rest of the field, We had the bizarre sight of the two of them playing cat and mouse as they contested the stage win on the climb to Pena Cabarga on stage 11, unworried by the closing pack behind them, each keen to score a psychological blow and take the stage victory. In the end it was Froome who kicked clear to steal the win and close the gap to Quintana at the head of the overall standings. And today's Queen stage, won by Robert Gesink on the Col d'Aubisque, again couldn't separate them as they crossed the line together ahead of the other GC contenders, only Simon Yates ahead of them as he moved closer to a potential podium finish. Quintana still holds a slender 54 second lead over Froome, which probably will not be enough come the time trial next Saturday. It really is all to race for as Froome attempts to be the first winner of Tour and Vuelta in the same season for, ooh, a long, long while.
The 2016 Tour of Britain kicks off tomorrow and the peloton heads into Cumbria on Monday for a tough stage through the Lake District. Work takes a back seat for the day and Paul and I are planning to head out to catch up with them as they showpiece the rebuilt roads of the Lake District after last winter's floods. The stage start in Carlisle should be a good chance to see them all close up before the racing gets underway at 11am, then we hope to leg it down to Ullswater and watch them spin up the Aira Force climb to Dockray. As the peloton then careers off round Caldbeck and Cockermouth, back over Whinlatter to Keswick, down past Thirlmere and Ambleside to the infamous struggle up the Struggle, we should have enough time to take a leisurely lunch in Glenridding and pootle up the steep side of Kirkstone Pass and hopefully catch them as they reach the summit of the Struggle. The finish is in Kendal and, despite all that climbing, may still come down to the last sharp climb of Beasty Banks. I just hope the rain keeps off so we don't get too wet on the bikes, unlike a couple of years ago as they came down Borrowdale. The atmosphere will be terrific whatever, and it should be quite a spectacle.
Talking of Whinlatter, I headed out that way last Wednesday for a lumpy ride in the north Lakes, enjoying a pleasant 3 hours or so after the rain had passed. Whinlatter is always a good test, not too tough but enough to get the old heart rate going and the short 20% section half way up is always a tester. It was a nice way to finish off my riding for August, taking me over the 1000km mark for the fifth month in a row. Last weekend we were down in Shrewsbury enjoying the Folk Festival, and as always my bike was in the back of the car. The Long Mynd is but a stones throw away and I headed out on Sunday morning to tackle the northern climb, a bit of a beast itself with a prolonged 15-20% section before topping out on glorious heather moorland with splendid views in all directions. With only 3 weeks to go now until I fly out for a week's riding at Chris and Helen's Pyractif base in the Pyrenees, I definitely need to strengthen my climbing legs. Sadly, my best bike has suffered a major mechanical and is in for some TLC repairs to the rear mech, hopefully it will be back on the road again in time.
Totals for August
Distance ridden: 1049km
Total ascent: 11595m
August 18th 2016: Olympic Gold - again!
I'm guessing the rest of the world are probably quite relieved the Olympics only come round once every four years. Team GB, having been somewhat off the pace for the last 3 years, have come good just when it matters and hit the ground running in Rio. A grand total of 11 cycling medals, including 6 golds, is put into perspective when you consider that no other nation won more than 2 medals in total and no more than 1 gold. To say that Britain dominated the track would be a massive understatement. True, the road cycling was somewhat disappointing with only a bronze to show for all that expectation. But in some atrocious conditions and on a road course that seemed woefully suited to an event of this magnitude much of it came down to good fortune, especially in the road race. The fact that the injuries suffered by riders weren't more serious is nothing short of a miracle, and G finishing in the top ten despite a nasty looking crash on the final descent was thoroughly commendable. Chris Froome will, I imagine, treasure his bronze in the time trial given Cancellara's magnificent ride, a wonderful way for Spartacus to bow out after giving us so much to admire over the years, proving that he still has something to give. Talk about going out at the top.
But it is the track where Britain's success continues to astound, carrying on from Beijing and London. I don't imagine anyone was really expecting quite that level of performance from our athletes but once again many of our riders seemed to get it right at just the right time - the philosophy of aiming to peak during Olympic year is a tried and proven formula after all. Jason Kenny led the way with 3 gold medals, and Laura Trott won her two events with amazing ease, she is just so far ahead of the competition it is unreal. The team pursuit golds were especially exciting with world records going in both men and women's events. The women's team truly obliterated the world record, taking 2 seconds off the time they had just set earlier in the semi-finals. Two seconds in this event is a huge margin, and watching it all unfold live from a pub in north Wales, as we were, was really special. New talent is coming through too which makes the prospect of yet more success in four years time a real possibility - even if the powers that be decide to make yet more changes designed to stop the British team dominating (I'm thinking of events like the kilo, the madison and the individual pursuit all of which have been removed in recent years. A special mention must go to Mark Cavendish who finally has his Olympic medal after a stunning display of all round riding in the Omnium which, coming on top of his Tour de France antics must mark 2016 as his annus mirabilis. I think it's safe to say he's back! (was he ever really away?)
Away from the television screens August has been a fun month on the bike. My little sister Rachel has been visiting from New Zealand and we have taken the opportunity to take her out and show her a few café stops in the vicinity. I also managed to take in a mini tour of Wales, including the Black Mountains and Snowdonia and ticked off a couple of Mr Warren's second best 100 Greatest climbs, namely the Gospel Pass and Pen y Pass, two very contrasting climbs - the former is remote and quiet with a couple of nasty stings for the unwary (a cheeky 21% section being one), the latter was steady but heaving with summer visitors who flock to Snowdon and fill the roads and footpaths. Both offer stunning views and are well worth the effort. Back home, I was able to take advantage of the unseasonably good summer weather (well, it is August) and bang in a 130km ride yesterday along the stunning Solway coast. The Pyrenees trip is now just 5 weeks away, it would be nice to be fit enough to enjoy it when I get there!
July 31st 2016: Irish hills and Paris
July has finished and we have just returned from a pleasant week in south west Ireland, a mix of walking, doing the tourist thing and riding our bikes. I have to say we really enjoyed riding bikes in Kerry, the roads were generally good and the traffic was respectful in the main. The region is blessed with some renowned climbs, most notably from my perspective the roads over Moll's Gap near Kenmare and the Healy Pass road in the Caha Mountains which is spectacular in 
the extreme. I managed to squeeze in a foray over the Healy Pass one evening as the daylight ebbed. The road was quiet, no tourists about at that time of day, and I was lucky enough to have the time to ride both sides of the pass, quite different in character. The north is open and sweeping with mountain views to draw the eye, the south runs up the river valley and into headwall where a series of switchbacks kick in, a lovely way to reach the summit. And the gradient is steady throughout with only an extra kick in the last pull to the summit on both sides. It was nice to ride the quiet roads late in the evening, though my solitude was broken when a series of blue flashing lights passed me on my return as a rescue team gathered at the pass to go off into the mountains on some rescue mission. Helen and I grabbed a couple of afternoon rides, mixing it with café and camera stops. A notable feature of this corner of Ireland is that it is decidedly unflat and also decidedly popular - given the scenery you can see why. Perhaps the most striking thing, though, was the high percentage of female cyclists we saw, many riding solo or in pairs, certainly a far higher percentage than back in the UK. Whether this reflected the attitude of the traffic or the general state of cyclng in the UK I am unsure, but it was good to see.
Earlier in the month young Paul came visiting us in Chester, bringing his bike with him. We had in mind a big ride out into the Welsh hills round Denbigh, based on a sportive route I had got wind of some months earlier. It was an opportunity to introduce him to the Road to Hell, a climb up onto the moors west of Denbigh which tests the legs and features in one of the 100 Greatest Climbs volumes. As with much of 2016 the weather was less than clement, we were subjected to a dose of rain in and around Mold but that cleared as we headed over the Clwyd hills via Moel Arthur, another classic climb, and as we got on to the Road to Hell it was dry - but hellish windy. This is a tough enough climb in good weather but a stiff headwind made it especially hard work as we reached the open moors near Llyn Brenig. By the time we reached the Visitor Centre there we were very ready for a coffee, lunch and cake stop. We sat in the cafe watching as the cloud rolled in over the reservoir and the distant hills disappeared from view. Ah well. The road back meandered through the hills down to Ruthin and up another winding climb, Nant y Garth by which time Paul had refound his legs and we finished with a run back into Chester via the lovely descent from Sunspot. In the end it was some 140 odd kilometers and we were defintely ready for a curry and a beer to celebrate. Great day on the bikes.
And so to Paris. For Chris Froome and the Sky team it was another successful assault on the Tour de France. Froomey now joins a very select band who have won the Tour three times, and this was Sky's fourth success in five years. How we all laughed when Dave Brailsford announced that a Sky rider would win the Tour by 2015 - he failed to say how many times, of course! This year's success was based on a different formula as Froome surprised his fellow competitors by attacking perhaps when they least expected it. His teaming up with Peter Sagan on the run-in to the sprint town of Montpelier was epic as the green and yellow jerseys combined to thwart the sprint trains and steal a precious few seconds. And his daring descent off the Col de Peyresourde certainly seemed to catch Movistar and Nairo Quintana napping. As always, the time trials were where he gained most time, cementing what was a convincing third victory ahead of Romain Bardet, the next French hope, and Quintana who never quite managed to live up to his reputation. The sight of young Adam Yates taking the white jersey and narrowly failing to make the podium gives us hope for a future where British riders really can compete at this level.
Totals for July
Distance ridden: 1024km
Total ascent: 11263m
July 2nd 2016: Cav in yellow
The 2016 edition of the Tour de France got underway today, in Normandy, heading out with the spectacular backdrop of Mont St Michel framing the riders as they set off for Paris via the usual roundabout route through the Pyrenees and the Alps. Chris Froome will be hoping to emulate last year's success, thereby winning his 3rd Tour de France, whilst Nairo Quintana and Alberto Contador will be doing their utmost to stop him. It should be an intriguing race. The first stage headed north through La Manche towards a thought-provoking finish on the Normandy beaches as we remember the Somme 100 years on as well as the D-Day landings back in 1944. The usual sprint suspects lined up - Greipel, Kittel, Sagan, Kristoff and, of course, Mark Cavendish, arguably the best sprinter of his generation but up against some mighty fine opponents who have matured and blossomed over the last couple of years. In what turned out to be a dramatic stage as the winds split the peloton and Contador took a dramatic tumble before the race homed in on Utah Beach for the predicted bunch sprint finish, it seemed to be the same old story with Kittel's leadout train setting it up for a textbook Marcel Kittel victory. Peter Sagan was well positioned but it was Cav who stole a march on the pair of them with his team bringing him up on the inside to steamroller past them like the good old days and take what turned out to be an easy victory by over 2 bike lengths. Imperious and emotional, it was Cav's 27th Tour victory and, at long last, it meant he would be wearing the coveted yellow jersey for the first time. Quite a moment.
On the home front, June has been a bit of a mixed bag with some fine weather early on but a return to the 2016 norm of wet and windy days as the month went on. After our enjoyable Way of the Roses trip we enjoyed some welcome downtime before getting back to riding ways. Midway through the month we found ourselves in deepest East Yorkshire, at the Beverley Folk Festival in fact, and, as I had my bike in the back of the car, I felt it would be rude not to explore the local countryside. As luck would have it, the weather was actually fair (not great, but fair) and we were in the vicinity of the Way of the Roses route through the Wolds so I took the opportunity to revisit Millington Dale, a lovely part of the Roses route and worthy of a morning out on the bike. Despite a tough headwind getting there, I soon found myself back in the bautiful surroundings of the Wolds and enjoyed the wending ride up through the valley, savouring the moment. A rampant tailwind carried me back to Beverley, satisfied with a good workout and an enjoyable morning. The next day I was in the Dales, with young Paul after celebrating my little brother's 50th birthday, and we rode up Wensleydale, reprising the route of the 2014 Tour de France stage 1 over the Buttertubs and Grinton Moor climbs, sadly in rather less favourable conditions as the rain came down with a vengeance. Swaledale is still beautiful, but descending off Buttertubs in these conditions was pretty unpleasant. For Paul it was a first chance to ride these two climbs, but by the end we had had enough and the final descent down into Leyburn was less than enjoyable. We will have to return.
The final weekend of June saw Helen and I up in the Scottish borders, again with the bikes in tow, this time helping a friend celebrate her 70th birthday. Firstly, I headed out up the lonely Glentress valley up into the remote and beautiful Moorfoot hills, a glorious way to spend a couple of hours even in the damp drizzly Scottish weather. Later that day Helen and I rode the back roads to Peebles for a leisurely lunch, as the sunshine returned and it pretended to be summer again. I do enjoy these visits to other parts of our island, a chance to explore and savour the different rides that are on offer. Cumbrian and Cheshire lanes are great to ride, but there's something special about exploring unknown roads and discovering other parts of our country. In the meantime, back to the Tour...
Totals for June
Distance ridden: 1274km
Total ascent: 13182m
June 4th 2016: The Way of the Roses
Day 1: Morecambe to Cracoe (81km)
Our hotel, billed as Morecambe's premier boutique hotel (whatever that actually means) and situated in the centre of the long promenade, certainly proved to be an interesting experience. We had strolled up and down the prom the night before, sharing a moment with Eric Morecambe and watching as the sun set over the Lake District hills. Come this morning the sun was shining, but a stiff north-easterly breeze promised a cool day.
After a hearty breakfast, our host helpfully pointed me to a handy side street some way away from the town centre where I could safely leave my car for the duration. He assured me it wouldn't attract any trouble (and he proved quite correct). We pulled our bikes out of the lockup, fitted the bags, fired up the Garmin and rolled out. The first task was to find the official start, not that easy as it proved, though we did wander out to the end of the Bastion, jutting out into Morecambe Bay, definitely our most westerly point and as good an alternative start as any. Five minutes later we rolled past the official start with its information board and signpost. Photographs were obligatory. Next stop was Morrisons for a comfort break before, finally, at about 10.30 we were on our way.
The first few miles roll pleasantly along a converted disused railway track down to Lancaster where we crossed the River Lune by means of a spectacular foot/cycle bridge. The route avoids the town centre, probably not a bad thing as the traffic looked heavy. We stayed on the cyclepath and headed east, under the M6 motorway and on toward the Crook of Lune, a big looping bend in the river which is a local beauty spot and attracts visitors in their hoards. So far, so flat, but now we faced our first climbing of the day as we joined proper roads for the first time. Views of the Lune below us were scenic, the hill was testing for Helen as she tackled the first test of the trip.
Dropping back down we arrived in Hornby and, shortly after, the little village of Wray, on the fringes of the Forest of Bowland. Ahead of our trip I had done some detailed research on suitable cafés along the route for timely cake stops. Wray was one such place, and we called a halt at Bridge House Farm for a welcome brew and some rather fine cake, sitting outside in the shelter of the yard where the sun warmed our backs. So far, so good, 16 miles in. After Wray the road gets lumpy as we track the northern edge of Bowland, whilst to the north and ahead of us the views of Ingleborough and the Pennine hills unfolded. Despite the steep nature of some of the climbs, Helen and I made steady progress before dropping down into the village of Clapham, a pretty spot nestling at the foot of Ingleborough. Here, after 27 miles, was the second of our scheduled stops at the Reading Room Café, an intriguing mix of quaint and functional. We enjoyed a pleasant hour here, studying the map and scoffing some lunch before I noticed that my camelback rucksack, containing my evening attire, was missing. You probably recognise that awful sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach as the realisation dawned, not a pleasant moment. I had, of course, put it down back in Wray and conveniently left it there, not giving it a moment's thought until now. Calamity. I rang Bridge House Farm and they confirmed that they did indeed have my bag. What to do? After some debate we decided to ride on to Settle, our next stop, and see if I could arrange a taxi ride to retrieve the bag. The short 8 mile ride to Settle saw the cloud rolling in as we approached the hillier terrain of the Yorkshire Dales. Some enquiries produced the number of a local taxi driver and I rang her to find that, miraculously, she was just now heading into Settle after a dropping a fare at Manchester Airport.
Talk about divine providence, she was happy to take me back to Wray to be reunited with my camelback. And hour or so later we were back in Settle and I joined Helen in the Talbot Arms where she had whiled away the afternoon over a couple of coffees, preparing herself for the next stage of our day's ride, a real tester up and over the moors past Malham. Climbing out of Settle is the steepest, hardest road of the entire route, an unpleasant and brutal 20% gradient which offers spectacular views. We walked! The clouds were swirling up on the moors, but the rain held off and soon we were descending again. The last 6 or 7 miles were relentlessly undulating, with short steep drags followed by quick descents until, finally we rolled into Cracoe and sought out the Devonshire Arms, our accommodation for the night. What a welcome sight, after an eventful old day. A couple of beers and some fine bar food soon put all that to rights and we retired, ready for the second day.
Day 2: Cracoe to York (103km)
At breakfast we discovered two other parties riding the route, one a couple whom we had crossed paths with a couple of times on Day 1, the other a Dutch man and his son who were tackling the Way of the Roses as part of a grand tour of the UK, on mountain bikes. They were off and away pretty promptly and we never saw them again. Breakfast done, we prepped the bikes and headed off, in the grey of the morning, the north-easterly wind still blowing. The day promised to be one of two halves with all the climbing in the first part before diving down to Ripon. We hadn't expected quite such a rude introduction with the first climbing coming inside the first mile as a small moorland road took us over into Wharfedale and the pretty village of Burnsall where we stopped to admire the fine bridge over the River Wharfe. A couple of miles later the day's big climb began, a long haul up onto the high moors and Greenhow Hill, the highest point of the entire ride at 404m. A steep section early gave way to a long drag, into that nagging wind, making it especially tough for Helen, but eventually after 10 miles we arrived at our first stop of the day, Stump Cross Caverns and their well-appointed tearooms, with excellent cake!
Having ridden over the high point of the route, although exactly where was hard to pinpoint as there was no sign celebrating the occasion, we now faced the plummeting descent into Pateley Bridge. A plethora of signs warning us of the steep gradients caused Helen some consternation and the road was indeed pretty damn steep. Brake blocks working overtime, she eased her way down into the town centre and over the River Nidd by the bridge which gives the town its name. Immediately it was back up hill again, through the narrow streets and out through woods towards Brimham Rocks, the intriguing rock formations which litter the moors to the east. After yet another steep climb we encountered bluebell woods and winding roads that took us through the heart of this amazing landscape. Next up (or should that be down) was the majestic country house that is Fountains Abbey, on the banks of the River Skell, before yet more climbing took us finally up to the grounds of Studley Royal, a fine estate with private road that heads directly down towards Ripon and our lunch, after 31 rather lumpy miles. Ripon also marked the end of the first half of the Way of the Roses, and the end of the big hills. Ahead lay only flat for the rest of the day. And here we found our way to the Sun Parlour Café in Ripon Spa Gardens, a gem of a spot, and a chance to relax for a wee while over lunch and a welcome brew. It had been a tough morning.
The ride from Ripon to York is in direct contrast to what had gone before, without a single hill that you could classify to break the journey. It follows a mix of country lanes through pretty villages, roughly following the River Ouse on its journey to York.
At one point the route took us over the old woodent toll bridge at Aldwark, a gem of a crossing where cyclists are required to stop, but are then given free passage. At Linton Lock we detoured down to the river and found a fine little café next to the lock there, and supped coffee with views of an intriguing archimedes screw working away on the far side of the river.
With just 12 miles to go we were now in the home stretch and, after a pleasant detour through the esate of Beningborough House we picked up the cyclepath which follows the river into the very heart of York itself. This winds through the meadows alongside the river, clearly a favourite spot for dog walkers and runners alike who were flocking to the path after a hard day in the office. By now, and after such a grey morning, the sun was shining and York looked a picture, the minster glowing in the evening sunlight. We stepped up from the river into the heart of a busy city, bustling and frantic. What a contrast to our relatively calm and peaceful trek through the Yorkshire countryside. Ah well, if you can't beat 'em join 'em. So, after a shower, we did just that, wandering into the city for a welcome beer (or two) and some food as well as a spot of sightseeing. A nice end to the day.
Day 3: York to Bridlington (108km)
Our third and final day was also the longest and we needed an early start. This failed to happen, but then, we're on holiday. Breakfast out of the way, we retrieved our bikes from the garden shed of our hotel, saddled up and rolled out into the York City traffic, the first task being to find the Way of the Roses route through the city, not that easy as it turned out. We rolled by the impressive Minster, a majestic building whatever your persuasion, and eventually found a Roses signpost on the bypass pointing east, and we set off for Bridlington with renewed heart.
We were now following Sustrans Route 66, perhaps not quite so iconic as the American roadtrip route, but still celebrated in these parts. After some 10 miles or so, including some off-road meanderings through farmland, we rolled onto a disused railway and into Stamford Bridge where our first scheduled café stop of the day was located. And a fine stop too, with another excellent piece of cake which we enjoyed whilst chatting with an Australian couple who were doing their own grand bike tour of the UK – must be the week for it! From Stamford Bridge the route now headed roughly south for some miles, and we welcomed the tailwind after so many miles with the persistent cool north-easterly hindering our progress. Country lanes rolled through the Vale of York but on the horizon the Wolds loomed and as we cruised into the market town of Pocklington we knew our easy riding in the flatlands was coming to an end.
Having negotiated our way through Pocklington we headed east out and into the gentle undulations of the Wolds to the pretty village of Millington. From here, the road east took us up into the very heart of Yorkshire Wolds country and the delightful Millington Dale, a splendid valley which winds through the hills, first one way, then another, gently rising all the time, never too steeply. And so quiet too, hardly any traffic to disturb the peace and tranquility. This was cycling at its very best. Just to add to the pleasure, the sun was trying to break through by now as well. Naturally enough, the camera was getting some exercise too as I revelled in the scenery. The dale did have a sting in the tail, much to Helen's consternation, with a final kick up to some 12% as the road finally broke out onto the top of the Wolds before starting what proved to be a long gentle descent. After a mile or so we cruised into the village of Huggate and spied a pub, the Wolds Inn. Food and beer seemed highly appropriate at this juncture, so we did, sitting outside in the warmth as the sun shone down. Perfect.
From Huggate we enjoyed some 10km downhill to Tibthorpe, following what must have been a Roman road heading due east, the wind to our flank, neither hindering or helping. We passed a few cyclists labouring up the gentle slopes and waved a cheery greeting. From Tibthorpe the route takes a few right angle turns snaking through the gentle Wolds countryside before finally we rolled into Hutton Cranswick and spied TJs, the next of our scheduled café stops. This proved a wonderful place to spend half an hour recharging with cake and coffee, hopefully to keep us going now to the finish, still 24 miles away. Next it was north to Driffield and we began an interesting relationship with the Bridlington railway line which we proceeded to cross and recross several time sover the next 15 miles or so. By now the cloud had returned and the temperature was decidedly cooling, and now our direction lay predominantly north into that nagging wind. On top of all this we had a last draggy climb from Burton Agnes which, for Helen, was a draggy climb too far. At the top it was just 7 miles to go and tempting to think it was all downhill – it wasn't, of course. Bridlington was swathed in a sea mist and was cold and unwelcoming as we rode down onto the prom toward the designated finish, a signpost which at least proved easier to find than the start had been. A gaggle of cyclists were already there, celebrating their completion of the ride. Strangely we hadn't seen them all day, so quite where they had come from was a mystery. Anyway, they were happy to take our photo, punching the air at our achievement. It had been quite a journey. And it wasn't quite over yet, our hotel for the night was about 5 miles back aways in Carnaby and it was with tired legs that we finally rolled into the car park and looked very much forward to a slap up meal and a couple of very cheeky beers to celebrate.
It had been quite a journey, 290km in total over the 3 days. Some spectacular scenery and some savage hills (just ask Helen) as well as some fine cake stops and some friendly banter with fellow Way of the Roses riders. Amazingly we managed to complete the entire ride without a drop of rain, nor indeed did we suffer any mechanical problems, no punctures and only the forgotten rucksack mishap to slow us down - and even that we were amazingly fortunate to overcome so easily. What more could we ask. A ride to remember for a long time to come.
May 31st 2016: Come What May
As May draws to a close we are all set for our Way of the Roses ride tomorrow. Helen and I have managed a couple of rides in the last few days, including a short leg spinner this morning to loosen up ready for the big ride. Over the last fortnight, and after some initial teething problems with my new Domane which have now been sorted out, I have been able to give it a more thorough work out back in Cumbria. It rides smoothly and climbs well, the disc brakes add a sense of security on those descents. With geometry that more or less matches my other Domane it really is a case of being able to switch from one to the other. Back to the prospect of our Roses ride, I will be using my Enigma steed, a thoroughbred tourer well suited to the job. We travel light, just a bar bag and small saddle bag along with a small camelback rucksack for me, whilst Helen has a larger but still trim rear bag mounted atop her pannier rack. The accommodation is sorted and the return transport sorted. We've landed in sunny Morecambe ready for an early start tomorrow, and we've wandered the prom seeing the sights that Morecambe has to offer. All we need to do now is ride our bikes.
Totals for May
Distance ridden: 1462km
Total ascent: 13313m
May 18th 2016: Bluebells
The beauty of living close to the Lake District is that it is such a spectacular place to ride a bike. Hilly, yes. But stunning with it. After a dull damp start to the day, the weather cleared to leave a pleasant sunny Wednesday afternoon. 
And working a half day left me with a perfect opportunity to take advantage. Riding my new Trek Domane disc bike, this was a fine opportunity to put it through its paces with some hills and some fast stretches as I headed south down into the Lakes bound for the Buttermere valley and the famous bluebell meadow at Rannerdale. If you've never seen it then put it on your bucket list. The Rannerdale bluebells are one of the most beautiful displays of wild flowers you're likely to see, set in the lovely vale of Rannerdale just north of Crummock Water, surrounded by craggy fells and threaded by a tumbling Lakeland beck. It is a bit of a challenge dragging a bike up the rocky path to the meadow but worth it. The Domane was smooth and comfortable as I headed over the roads of the northern fells, down past Bassenthwaite and into the Vale of Lorton where the sheep grazed and the fresh greenery of the trees shone in the afternoon sunshine. The last drag over Lanthwaite Green reveals one of my favourite views in the county, looking up Crummock Water to the Buttermere fells. The camera was very busy. Once in Rannerdale, I lingered awhile amongst the bluebells, soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying the colour of it all. My new bike posed for some pictures, a prima donna if ever I saw one. And then, all too soon, it was time to head back on homewards, this time taking the high road over Whinlatter and down to Keswick. Disc brakes make the descents that bit safer I feel, the drop down to Braithwaite is steep and fast. From here it was the inevitable headwind on the long drag north past Bassenthwaite in the shadow of Skiddaw before emerging high above the Solway Plain and turning for home. A memorable day out on the hills, I find myself looking forward to doing it all again the same time next year.
May 3rd 2016: Tour of Mallorca, the 312 revisited
So, that's a wrap on our Tour de Mallorca for another year. After missing out in 2015, I rejoined the team for the 2016 version which saw us trying out new accommodation and some new personnel in our lineup. In many ways though it was more of the same. It was an opportunity to revisit some old favourites and also check out a couple of new bits of tarmac. The centrepiece of the week was, without doubt, the Mallorca 312 sportive, now in its seventh year and, for the first time, on closed roads.
We arrived on the Tuesday morning to be greeted by glorious warm sunshine, our hopes lifted at the prospect of some warm weather riding after so long in the UK winter gloom. 
Tradition has it that the team gather after the usual bike building - though many of the team chose to hire bikes this year (myself included) - and head out on the now smooth tarmac road to Formentor lighthouse, a fabulous 2 hour ride through scenery to gawp at. Obviously, this is also a major draw for locals and visitors alike as the huge amount of traffic on the road confirmed and the queue of cars vying for the limited parking at the lighthouse was almost comical to watch. We dallied awhile, taking in the views and ice-cream, snapping pictures of the goats who seemed unfazed by the large human influx, climbing on the tables in search of titbits. Finally, we headed back, stopping for a few photo opportunities on the way before the final short descent back into Port de Pollenca.
Day 2 dawned bright and sunny, so far so good. The sunblock was deployed and the team plan for the day was a ride south through the flat lands, past Petra and down to the rocky outcrop of Sant Salvador, a round trip of about 90 miles. We were a full peloton and rode pretty much in formation through the green countryside that Mallorca is displaying at the end of April, spring flowers also in abundance at the side of the roads. At Petra, after a couple of hours, we stopped for coffee and cake, as you always should on such holidays. Petra is to cyclists what Scafell Pike is to Lake District walkers – a magnet. And on a warm sunny day the cafes in the squares at the centre of town are awash with lycra and carbon frames (or titanium in my case). Quite a spectacle. From Petra it was a short ride on to the foot of Sant Salvador and the day's major climb, the 5 kilometers to the top of this rocky crag and the monastery. As we started on the lower slopes the team broke ranks and it was everyone for themselves, for me it was a case of pole pole (as they say in Swahili) and I chugged my way gently to the summit of the climb with views. It is a lovely climb, the turns and switchbacks slowly reveal the character of the outcrop with the monastery perched proudly above us. As it turned out I took a massive 3 minutes off my previous best on the climb, gotta be pleased with that. Time for lunch. The restaurant there offers basic but welcome scran and we sat down to a cheeky beer and enjoyed a welcome break before the roll back to Port de Pollenca. It was steady as you go, the kilometers clicking away and soon we were back in Alcudia and the sweeping bay that signifies home. After 140 kilometers and some tired legs it was time to refelect. A cracking day on the bike, all in all.
Our third day dawned wet and not at all cheery. It was rain, rain and more rain. I went for a walk, others tried out the pool and we all met up late morning to wander into town for some lunch. The rain continued to fall. This was not what we had ordered. Lunch was a relaxed affair and as we wandered back to the hotel the rain was easing, a few of us made the decision to head out for a short spin, just round the lanes to Campanet and Buger, with the intention of returning via the Mallorca 312 sign-on in Alcudia. Forgetting my passport didn't help (we needed some ID to get our Bibs) and I had to return to the hotel, meeting up with Keith in the process. We rode out together, chatting away and enjoying the ride. After a failed attempt to climb the impossibly greasy sloper of Santa Magdalena, still wet after the rain (mercifully now stopped), we headed east to Alcudia. A stiff easterly wind made it hard work at times and by the time Keith and I reached the sign-on village we were crestfallen to see a huge queue – presumably given the weather everyone and their dog had decided it would be a good idea to sign on today. We didn't! And so it was back to base, beer and dinner. Surely tomorrow would be better.
And it was. 
Friday was a belter. Not to begin with, as more rain trickled down, but by mid morning the sun was trying to make an appearance and some of the team were up for a ride out to the south and Arta, an old fortified town in the Serres de Levant mountains. It is truly a long drag down the main arterial road through Alcudia all the way to Arta, flat at first but gradually more rolling as we reached the mountains. On our way, a number of us took the opportunity to sign on and get our Bibs and goody bags for the 312, the queue mysteriously short now that the sun was out. Arta is a lovely little town with a central square lined on one side by plane trees and a number of street cafes offering us a lunch opportunity. By now the sun was out and we picked one at random. Mein host helpfully erected a bike rack for us and personally racked our bikes as we perused the menu and ordered a cheeky beer (well, you've got to haven't you). Lunch was a delightfully relaxed affair in the sun and very soporific. But the lure of the mountains called and we wanted to seek out the Ermita de Betlem, over a sinewy mountain pass and overlooking Alcudia Bay. It was a lovely road, quiet and peaceful, climbing up hairpins to a col with views that cried out for some photo stops (how could I not?). The short descent to the hermitage brought us to a quiet haven, where we tarried awhile and enjoyed the buildings and surrounds in the afternoon sunshine. The road back was equally delightful, and in Arta we climbed the steep ramp to the castle where it was time for an ice-cream and the chance to make friends with a local moggy who seemed peculiarly keen to sit in our shadows. Then it was the long drag back to Alcudia and Port de Pollenca, not the most pleasant road but we made good progress and made it in time for dinner. All that remained was to prepare the bike and kit ready for a very early start tomorrow.
The forecast for the Mallorca 312 sportive was a shocker. And they weren't wrong. We awoke at 5, got kitted up and headed for breakfast which the hotel were laying on for us early starters. The rain was already coming down, as it had done most of the night. At least it wasn't windy, but as we set out through the night along the bay road to Alcudia, gathering in numbers as more and more participants joined the throng, it was hard not to wonder why on earth we were doing this. 
I had been suffering the effects of viral bronchitis since January and felt less than 100% for the event, so I had had the fanciful notion of enjoying a lovely sunny day in the mountains, perhaps taking my camera along and recording the day. The rain soon put an end to such notions, along with any enthusiasm that might have been trying to break out. By 6.30 we were lined up in the melee that passed for the peloton waiting for the off, riders shivering in the rain and cold. The clock ticked slowly down, 7am (the alleged start time) came and went and still we waited. Dave had concocted a cunning plan, based on a strategy of not stopping, with Keith acting as his batman. Sadly, no sign of Keith who had slept in and was, unbenownst to us waiting at the very back of the queue, Dave's plan was already in jeopardy. Drew was the only one of us aiming to ride the full 312 kilometers, but the waether probably meant an end to his intention to ride it in under 10 hours. Chris, t'other Dave and I were happy to try and enjoy the day. At 10 past they finally got the ball rolling, and the riders so, so slowly rolled across the start line (for us it was some 12 minutes later) and we set off through the streets of Alcudia, cheers ringing and wheels humming. The first section is neutralised (whatever that might mean) before the whole pack was released at the foot of the first climb, the Col de Femenia, into the mountains. Still the rain came down. The field was thinning down now, though I was still surrounded by many, many riders. So many of them seemed to be hurting themselves rather unnecessarily, there was still a long way to go. As I cruised over the summit of the first climb many seemed to feel the need to stop and recover (it is not a tough climb). Leaving aside the antics of the two errant participants who thought it was a good idea to do a U-turn directly in front of me and a fellow rider as we sped down the far side of the climb, the race continued high into the Tramuntana mountains, the next landmark being the climb from Gorg Blau to the Puig Major, altogether more challenging. The first feed station alongside Gorg Blau (one of Mallorca's two reservoirs high in the mountains) was packed, many riders feeling the need to simply stop in the middle of the road with no warning. Rider discipline on these events is decidedly suspect at times, caution was required as I wasn't planning to stop and it was a tricky few moments threading a way through the lycra-clad melee, then it was on and up the long climb. Although the rain was still coming down intermittently, the cloud was high and the tops of the mountains were clear, it was spectacular stuff. Finally the top of the climb arrived and a chance to take on some food before the tunnel through the mountains and the long, long descent to Soller. Emerging from the tunnel into thick cloud was something of a surprise, but the descent on closed roads was still something to be savoured, albeit with care and the next 15 minutes were comfortably the most enjoyable of the whole ride. Of course, what goes down must go up again, and the Mallorca 312 does this esepcially well. After negotiating the greasy wet tram lines in Soller it was upwards and onwards once again, this time bound for Deia and Valdemossa, where the route splits and us sensible people turn left for the mere 105 mile option, leaving the less sensible riders to turn right and opt for the late bath. At least by now the rain had more or less stopped and by the time we were descending out of the mountains after the feed at Valdemossa (busy, but off the road) it was dry and there was the prospect of a relatively enjoyable run for home. I managed to pick up with a fast-moving group for some 15 kilometers or so which helped to eat up the distance remaining, though the last few kilometers into a wind were hard work. At last though, I was on the final straight, a few cheers ringing in my ears as I crossed the finish line, arms aloft and feeling especially chuffed at creeping inside the 7 hour mark. My final time of 6 hours 59 and 42 seconds was good enough for 622nd place (out of 2400 or so), respectable enough for an old fart I feel. The others had all finished shortly before me (apart from Drew who was still out there, gunning for a sub-11 hour finish on the 312) and we retired to the food tent for beer and pasta and to share stories of an epic day in the mountains. Of course, there was still the little matter of the ride back to the hotel by which time I had over 200 kilometers on the Garmin – it had been a long day!
Sunday, the day after the day before, and we awoke to more rain, though the promise was for it to clear. Dave was suffering after his non-stop heroics in the 312, so it was a reduced group that set off for a shortened ride through the flat lands and villages before heading up into the mountains. Half an hour in Drew suffered a puncture which highlighted how lucky he had been the day before – no tyre levers and no pump, he would have struggled . Luckily, help was at hand and as the puncture was sorted so the clouds rolled back and the sun revealed itself. It was going to be a nice day after all (apart from the ubiquitous cold northerly wind). We rolled down to the little hilltop town of Buger, just ahead of a local bike race which piled through shortly after and attracted precisely no attention from the locals – they've obviously seen it all before. We camped down in the cafe in front of the church and settled down to do lunch – some rather questionable tapas, washed down with a cheeky beer. We rolled on towards the mountains, the aim being the lovely climb from Selva up to Sa Batalla, a series of switchbacks and rocky scenery before emerging on a grand terrace with views to the coast and a final series of hairpins. It is one of those climbs that you just setlein to and savour. Our second stop was at the petrol station cafe at the top of the climb, joining the throng of riders, most of whom were bound for Sa Calobra, before continuing to the monastery at Lluc, a place to linger in he afternoon sun with cake. We did. The final part of the ride is the long descent ff the Col de Femenia back to Pollenca, dry roads and a chance to let the hire bike show what it could do. And it didn't let me down. In Pollenca it seemed churlish not to make it a further stop, so we did. Another cheeky beer in the evening sunshine, a perfect end to a lovely ride.
Monday, our last day, and the weather is ever-improving (though still with that nagging northerly). The agenda today was to head west for the Orient, a high valley in the mountains toward Soller, but to get there we decided to ride the Femenia climb first, take the Sa Batalla descent and pick up the road to Alaro. It was almost a full complement of riders that set out and we tapped our way sedately up Femenia, enjoying the morning views, so different to a couple of days earlier in the rain. The group decided a cafe stop at the Sa Batalla garage would be appropriate and we reconvened there, again amongst the lycra masses who were headed for what would obviously be a very crowded Sa Calobra. The cake was gorgeous! Sadly, the descent wasn't as a local bus pulled through just ahead of us and was clearly reluctant to let anyone pass, but was having great trouble negotiating the traffic and the hairpins. It was the most frustrating descent of the week, but there was little to be done other than to enjoy the views as we cruised slowly down. Once off the main road it was more relaxing and we wended our way along the foot of the mountains toward Alaro, the great sandstone mesas of the Orient towering spectacularly to our right. The Orient climb is lovely, a steady 5-7% all the way, and the landscape gradually unfolds as you go. Here, for the first time really this week, we saw more cyclists, probably the bright weather luring them out to play. At the top of the climb it was a case of queuing up to get a photo at the sign. Here John and I turned about to head back for home, though not without first stopping for a lovely leisurely lunch in the square in Alaro, soaking up the sun and the atmosphere along with a cheeky beer and a delicious salad. The ride back alongside the motorway was not inspiring but it was quick, I needed to be back to return my bike before 7pm so this was expedient. We did just have enough time for one last stop off in Pollenca for a brew, a nice way to say our farewells after a splendid week of cycling, the weather notwithstanding. By the end of this, the 7th day, I had clocked up over 800 kilometers. No wonder my legs were tired!
Thanks are due to Chris, Dave, Keith, John, Andrew, Dave, Drew, Steve, Ali, Graham, Alex and Zoe for helping put this adventure together and making it an enjoyable week. Same time next year guys?
Totals for April
Distance ridden: 1284km
Total ascent: 11680m
April 13th 2016: There's something about the Cobbles
It's that time of year when the racing comes to the mud and cobbles of Belgium and France. The Spring Classics are in full flow with the Tour of Flanders, Gent-Wevelgem, Scheldeprijs, E3 Harelbeke and so on. But perhaps the most famous and dramatic of all is Paris-Roubaix. It has history too, the first edition was held way back in 1896. But it is the drama of the cobbles for which it is undoubtedly famous. The 2016 edition was no exception with plenty of drama, crashes and a five-way sprint finish in the Roubaix velodrome. Sadly, these races are not available on free-to-view TV so I have to make do with finding video highlights on Youtube, not quite the same really. As Tom Boonen failed gloriously in his valiant attempt to win a record fifth race, it was the largely unsung Mat Hayman who stole the headlines in that sprint finish. Ian Stannard was third, just not quite quick enough to come round on the final straight. Sadly for the fans, Fabian Cancellara and Peter Sagan tumbled in an innocuous crash mid-race and were left chasing hard as the lead riders took advantage. All this followed a classic edition of the Tour of Flanders in which Peter Sagan took a brilliant solo win resplendent in the World Champions jersey. Cancellara was second but was unable to close the gap over the final kilometers.
Back home, the weather continues to dominate the UK riding scene. Although March did offer a few nice days it was, it ended with yet more wintry weather - I have managed a single ride so far this year in anything other than winter kit. Helen and I did manage a foray to Eureka for cake and lunch, coming on the back of a solo ride covering an old route through Delamere Forest and Beeston Castel which saw me notch up 110 kilometers for the day. April has been even worse, the wintry weather continuing with snow on the hills, wet roads and breezes to sap the strength. Added to which I seem to have developed a bit of a chest infection, not ideal preparation for Mallorca which is less than a fortnight away now. I must say I am looking forward to riding in some warm weather, in shorts and on decent tarmac - UK roads are now so universally shockingly bad I suspect we are becoming inured to the state of them. I fear they will, many of them, never be properly repaired.
Helen and I have now booked our Way of the Roses ride for the beginning of June. This promises to be a challenging coast-to-coast which we will tackle over 3 days, riding west-east from Morecambe to Bridlington. The accommodation is booked - with nights in Morecambe, Cracoe, York and just outside Bridlington. It promises to be three days good riding, I just hope the weather is kind to us.
Totals for March
Distance ridden: 981km
Total ascent: 8739m
March 20th 2016: The Devil and the Cake
When Paul and I rode over the Devil's Beeftub in the rain at midnight last June I think we both felt it was a case of unfinished business. We needed a return visit to ride this climb again. As luck would have it I was off last Thursday AND the weather forecast was a belter - wall-to-wall sunshine and hardly a breath of wind. 
I threw my trusty Trek in the back of the car and (sadly without Paul) drove north up the M74 to the little town of Moffat which nestles snugly at the foot of this 11km monster. Actually, monster is probably an unkind moniker, in reality this is a lovely climb (see the UK Climbs page) which takes the rider up into the hills of the Southern Uplands by the most glorious route, the valley of the Beeftub gradually unfolding as you reach ever higher to the skies. On a day like Thursday the views were quite sublime, with everything laid out in great detail. The deep valley to the right, the Beeftub, reaches a dramatic headwall where, once upon a time, the road used to climb steeply to reach the summit before common sense prevailed and engineers sculpted the modern route up the gentler gradient that now applies. It is a big ring climb par excellence with an accelerating finish as you pass the beeftub headwall and race the last kilometer to the summit of the climb. With such perfect conditions I had no excuse for not beating my previous best time up the climb. And so it proved, just creeping in under the half hour mark, a satisfying start to my day's ride. And this was just the start, as I carried on over the summit and down into the Tweed valley past the headwaters of the mighty river which has humble beginnings high on the grassy slopes of the hills flanking the road. Further down the valley, in Tweedsmuir, an insignifcant right turn to Talla beckoned and I swung off the main road (hardly busy) onto a pretty much deserted single track road which winds its way into the heart of these hills and up the dam to Loch Talla itself, a reservoir flanked by the slopes Broad Law and, on a day like today, a glorious picture. Fortunately, I had brought my camera with me and it was kept busy as I stopped frequently to take in the views. At the head of the loch the road takes a brutal line up the hillside, the infamous Wall of Talla. Here 20% slopes take their toll but the views back down the loch make it all worthwhile. And then, over the watershed, I was crusing down to the Megget Reservoir, a huge expanse of water which provides the city of Edinburgh with it's bath and drinking water. And on a day like today the reflections were quite glorious. Time to stop again, more photos and an appreciation of the engineering prowess which created this lake. Finally, I turned south and west, back onto the main road heading down to Moffat and found a nagging headwind, not harsh but just enough to punish some tiring legs. Nevertheless, all in all, it really was a splendid ride out in these very quiet Scottish hills. All I need to do now is go back there with Paul!
Every spring the local CTC group from Two Mills, part of the North Wales and Chester setup, organise a splendid Spring Tourist Trial, 
a 50 mile outing winding its way through the Cheshire/Welsh countryside from Farndon on the River Dee. Much like a reliability ride, it is a chance for many to dust off the winter cobwebs and stretch their cycling legs ahead of the summer. Last year the weather was atrocious and the planned ride with Helen, Pete and Sharon never materialised (I rode it solo in the rain), but once again Helen and I signed up, this time with Phil and Barb as our companions. And what a day it proved to be. A dull grey cold start soon burnt off and the sun broke through as we bimbled our way round the course, enjoying a natter and a catch-up as we went. Some 200 riders headed out, but the roads were busy with club rides and a local sportive too, so the concentration of cyclists in north-west Cheshire through the day was intense. The route is a figure of eight with a glorious bunfight at the midway point - cake, sandwiches, quiche and more cake, plus soup and tea/coffee. Everyone was encouraged to take advantage - it is definitely NOT a race. Suitably refreshed, and probably a pound or two heavier, we resumed our gentle ride, this time heading south with the throngs, though we were definitely towards the back of the field by now. Not that it mattered a jot, it was far too nice a day to do anything other than enjoy it. And we did. The aim of the ride is to complete the 50 miles in 5 hours (including cake stops), we just crept over the time but, you know what, nobody cared. All in all, this was totally what Sunday bike rides are all about
March 13th 2016: It's nice in Nice
Well now, this is a bit of a turn up. I do believe Spring has arrived. After several weeks of temperatures hovering not much above freezing and hours spent cleaning the bike and kit following even the briefest of rides, this last few days has been undiluted pleasure as the sun has popped out to say hello and the daffodils finally look comfortable in that March sunshine. 
Long may it last. A lovely evening ride last Wednesday when I watched the sun setting over the Solway from the marshes up near Bowness before cruising home in the dark was a nice way to end the day. Then on Friday Helen and headed out in the warm morning air to find somewhere for coffee in the shadows of Beeston Castle - her first ride for over a month - before I took to the draggy slopes of Sunspot over the Welsh border, a lovely gradual climb which tests the big ring power (it never exceeds 8% and averages about 3% for much of the 7km climb). The fast descent off the Llandegla Moors to Rossett was enlivened by a rear-wheel blowout, as I hit a stone on the steep section near the foot of the descent at some 65kph. Not recommended, especially when pursued by a large lorry who fortunately must have realised what was happening and gave me some latitude as I pulled over to inspect the damage. A split tyre wasn't great but I carry electrical tape and patched the inside of the tyre, popped a new tube in and borrowed the track-pump lent to me by a generous hearted local inhabitant who had witnessed my misfortune before completing my ride, making my way home with another 100km ride under my belt. A short but brisk 40km solo spin round the local Cheshire lanes yesterday afternoon was puntuated by some less welcome drizzle, but today it was business as usual with some glorious sunny weather as Helen and I headed out with friends Pete and Sharon for the ritual cake run to Tatton Park - they do serve up exceedingly good cake, even if the massive queue meant we had to wait a while. Yeah it has been a good week on the bikes.
It's been a cracking week for Geraint Thomas too. After some years knocking on the door he finally came good with a merited and stunning win in this year's edition of Paris-Nice. It was an eventful edition with a real mixed bag of weather (stage 3 was cancelled due to snow) but the final stage was indeed nice in Nice. After taking over the lead on Saturday's stage thanks to a fine performance on the final climb, Geraint Thomas had to withstand spirited attacks from Alberto Contador, his nearest challenger, over the Col d'Eze where he was dropped and looked close to losing out before a thrilling descent into Nice was enough to give him the victory by just 4 seconds from Contador. In so doing he became only the third Brit to win this famous Race to the Sun after Tom Simpson and Bradley Wiggins. This just might be quite a year for G.
March 7th 2016: World Reflections
This weekend has seen the Track World Championships take place in the Lee Valley Velodrome in London, and it was an excellent advert for world cycling generally. Perhaps the most refreshing aspect has been the narrowing of the gaps between individual nations competing, to the extent that no less than 10 different nations won gold over the four days of competition. This represents a departure from previous years when it has not been unusual for one or two countries to dominate, hardly good for the sport generally. Whilst us Brits all enjoyed the spectacle of Team GB wining medal after medal at the last two Olympics, there was a feeling of unease at the apparent lack of competition. All that has changed now and whilst Team GB certainly acquitted themselves well this weekend, winning 5 of the 16 gold medals on offer and topping the medal table, it certainly wasn't a runaway performance. Germany, Australia and Russia each chipped in with more than a single gold and there were signs that Italy, Spain and USA are making signifcant progress too. For me there were three stand-out performances over the weekend which set the pulse racing and proved to be spectacular to watch.
First, the Italian individual pursuiter Filippo Ganna, only 19 years of age, gave a fantastic demonstration of how to rescue a seeming lost cause by putting in a blistering last 3 laps to turn a half second deficit into a 2 second advantage in the final to win gold. It was certainly no flash in the plan, he did something similar in the previous round too.
Second, young Brit Jon Dibben was perhaps the surprise package on the British team as he finished strongly to win the Mens' 40km Points Race in an assured and mature ride which bodes well for the future
Third, and perhaps most pleasing, was the sight of Bradley Wiggins and Mark Cavendish teaming up in the Madison, the last event of the Championships and, in an amazing finale, finally stealing the lap they needed to set up the victory and a fifth gold for the team. Cav and Wiggo at their very best. And the crowd loved it
So, all in all, a thrilling weekend, especially after a lacklustre first day when the Brits seemed all at sea with finger pointing and frowns being replaced by smiles and cheers by Sunday afternoon. It all bodes well for a spectacular summer in Rio when the Olympics come to town. I can't wait!
March 1st 2016: The Desmond Legacy
As Cumbria continues to rebuild after Storm Desmond and his fellow cyclones, it does make for some interesting riding at times. Last week I rode down into the Lakes for the first time this year and discovered first hand some of the damage that has been caused during those terrible storms in December. The Lake District remains uncannily quiet and towns like Keswick, normally bustling with visitors, seem almost like ghost towns at times. Some minor roads remain closed, waiting in what is, I suspect, a long line of urgent repairs required as the rest of the country quietly forgets about what has happened. Roads round both Derwentwater and Thirlmere remain closed or passable with difficulty, but I did manage to get round, and recent progress has meant that a route is now open to cyclists through the heart of the Lakes as fresh tarmac has been laid through the woods over Dunmail Raise for use by walkers, cyclists and the shuttle bus service trying hard to keep Keswick and Grasmere connected. Other landslips affect roads elsewhere in the county, though generally cyclists are at an advantage and can get through, unlike motorists. It is going to be a long time before we get back to something approaching normality. At 121km, it was comfortably my longest ride of the year so far, and the hardest with some signifcant ascent thrown in for good measure. But after a grey start the sun came out and I enjoyed a fine day in the Lakes, reminding me of just what an amazing place Cumbria is to live and ride a bike.
Meanwhile, after the early Belgian skirmishes and a fine success for Geraint Thomas who retained his Algarve title last week, we find ourselves on the eve of the World Track Championships in London, where Team GB will be hoping for some improvements ahead of the Olympics later this year. Roadies Wiggo and Cav return to the fold and bring some much needed experience to the sqaud, whilst Ed Clancy also returns after a long layoff following injury. The women also face a tough weekend as the rest of the world seems to be catching up. I for one will be tuning in to watch how it all unfolds over the coming days. And then it is the turn of the Belgian Classics, always an exciting time as Flanders, Paris-Roubaix, Ghent Wevelgem and all lure us in with their history and cobbled magic. Bring it on.
Totals for February
Distance ridden: 769km
Total ascent: 7185m
February 9th 2016: And the rain goes on
Like a stuck record I find wet month is rolling into wet month. January has been pretty ropey, with scant opportunities to get out and ride. It seems to be one storm after another as we roll quickly through the alphabet with seemingly no end in sight. Fields are still so waterlogged, roads seem to have standing water ever-present and every ride is followed by a hose down to clean a filthy bike. Word has it that every winter ride is miles in the bank ahead of the summer, I only hope that's true! Despite all the doom and gloom it has been possible to get out (albeit with some "proper" gear on to keep the rain at bay) and I've managed to carry on my record of completing the monthly Strava Gran Fondo ride in both January and February. The latest was a pleasant ride out through Cheshire to Tatton Park (always a good slice of cake to be had there) before a damp and soggy meander home as the light was failing. The fact that evenings are pushing out bit by bit also gives cause for optimism and it is great to think that Mallorca is just over 2 months away.
On the pro scene the season is underway and we have already enjoyed some interesting racing down under - Peter Kennaugh has had a storming start to his season winning the Cadel Evans road race before setting up Chris Froome to win the Jayco Sun Tour, Kennaugh taking a fine second place along the way - in truth he was unlucky not to win the overall, but Froome's opportunism won him the jersey. The world sprinters are shaping up nicely with wins for Greipel, Kristoff Ewan, and Cavendish in the early skirmishes. Should be an exciting season ahead.
Totals for January
Distance ridden: 540km
Total ascent: 4500m
January 19th 2016: Winter has arrived
After so much rain and so much wind over the last few months it was almost a relief when winter finally tightened its grip this week It hasn't made for the best cycling conditions, there is no way I will take a chance on icy roads and potentially ruin the summer ahead. When the cold does relent it allows a few kilometers and the chance to maintain a modicum of fitness, but it isn't what you might call quality time. Inevitably I find my mind wandering to thoughts ofthe summer ahead and possible adventures. I find myself steering away from sportives these days - for me the prospect of having to arrive at the crack of dawn, endure inadequate facilities, and fight for road space with fellow riders has ceased to be an attraction, with a few notable exceptions. All in all, I would far rather take the bike, maybe head off with a mate and ride the route in our own time and at our own pace, maybe take in a coffee and cake stop and take the time to enjoy the scenery. Maybe it's an age thing, maybe it's a deeper appreciation of what being out on my bike really means. In the meantime we'll continue to grab opportunities as winter continues, and enjoy some chilly miles until the spring sunshine reaches us.