Manchester to Blackpool Bike Events 14/07/13

Third year of my participation in this event and the one that started it all off back in 2011. The Manchester to Blackpool run has nurtured a soft spot in my heart over the last few years and I signed up as soon as the date was released earlier this year. So I sported the low number of 22 on the handlebars in an event of thousands.
Last year I left the start line along with friends and relatives, however they were all out of the country this time around. I'm not sure whether that's a poor refection on me or the event, but suffice to say I was alone again this year. Last year we had spoken about riding home from Blackpool after the event should the weather be nice. This was something I'd never contemplated when I rolled over the finish line back in 2011. It just shows you how more confident I am with my fitness and riding now.
So the glorious summer was now into it's third week and there was no excuse not to at least try the ride back home from Blackpool this year, so the scene was set. Sunday morning 6 am and this time Mrs.S. was employed to drive me and the bike again to Old Trafford for my start time of 7:30 am.
A brief check and photo before riding through the filter gate to hand in my registration card and collect a map.

Me in shadow at the start -
Chez Moyes

A thin veil of cloud covered the sky but it was still warm and getting warmer.
There were not too many riders here at this time but a constant stream gathered behind me as we awaited enough to start the next group off.
I started  slowly as the roads tend to be a little congested as riders sort themselves out depending on their ability. Also in the back of my mind was the thought of a 100 mile ride if I was to ride home from Blackpool. However I was keen to beat last years time and try and get to Blackpool in less than 4 hours.
Within a few miles I'd got myself into a comfortable pace and seemed to be making good progress.
The route was almost exactly the same as previous years with the odd small deviation. I had set my sights on a quick food stop again at the Bowling Green Inn, which is roughly halfway. There I took on my flapjack quota and two bananas along with a bottle of chilled water from a small concession outside.

The Bowling Green Inn

I took a few minutes to admire one or two of the bikes there as riders arrived and departed, but before I got too comfortable I jumped back on the bike and set off again. This time I joined a small group and we rode a brisk pace through the chaotic Preston and out  towards the seaside. By now the weather was hot, the cloud had burnt off and sun blazing. Through Lytham the road had been closed for a running event, this greatly helped all the riders on a car free stretch. I'd made great time and had even left one or two competent looking riders in my wake. I was rather shocked how good I felt, but given all the riding I've done lately I shouldn't have been surprised.
As I turned onto the front at Blackpool, where they close the road,  I engineered my finish so I would be relatively alone as I crossed the line. I love the finish here. They set it up to funnel you in and there is always a receptive crowd. This year as I rolled in, straightening my cycle top hands off the bars the crowd was bigger than I'd ever seen before.
To rapturous applause I stopped to pick up my Soreen, water and certificate and remembered to stop the Garmin. A riding time of 3:39 hrs meant I'd smashed last years time by about half an hour.
Next to the finish was a large field with a tented village, there seemed to be hundreds of riders having already completed the route. I scratched my head at some of the sights there, wondering what time some of these must have set off.
I propped the bike up against a rather flash bike shelter and sat opposite on the grass. In my mind I had already made the decision to ride home. So after the required flapjack re fuel and top up of water I rode onto South Shore behind the finish where I could take a quick snap and sort out the Garmin.

Propped up in the rather flash bike shelter

View from the handlebars of the big one

I had picked a route back slightly different from the one I'd just ridden and decided to go through Lytham town centre. This turned out to be a bit of a mistake as by now it was gridlocked.
I was heading back towards Preston so I could pick up the A59. It was hard to avoid missing the Bike Events route on the way back though. I looked across the carriageway to see an endless stream of cyclists, seemingly all welded together, heading towards Blackpool.
Preston was again chaotic and I was glad to get out the other side unscathed. A few more cyclists who had completed the run joined me here briefly. We parted on the way out as they rode off in a different direction.
The A59 is not a particular pleasant road this side of Preston and it was a bit of a slog. I got to Tarleton where I was low on water and food bars. I decided that I would carry on to Rufford where I'd stop and have a break. I contemplated stopping at my usual cafe there, but given the beautiful weather I knew it would be standing room only and quite literally a bun fight getting served. I thought the petrol station in Rufford may be open so I could fill up the bottles and have a snack. To my disappointment as I rode onto the forecourt it was closed.
Opposite, shaded under a tree, a bench beckoned me to sit down. I drank the dregs of my water bottles thinking what my next move should be.
I'd had enough of main roads by now and decided to make a break for a farm tea shop about 3 or 4 miles further on my route home.
I rode there to find it open and with a chiller cabinet full of cold drinks I dug into my jersey for loose change. Home made flapjacks graced the table next to the cabinet. Two cans and a flapjack later I was ready for the final push. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't feel a tad jaded at this point but I was still comfortable.
I set off and within forty minutes of leaving I was pulling up on my drive just after 3 pm.

So there you have it, my first ride over the magic ton and in fact 105 miles in total. I had left Manchester at 07:30 that morning on what can only be described as a full day cycling.

All is looking fine for London to Paris in September, fingers crossed the weather will hold.

Liverpool Chester Liverpool 20th Anniversary - 7th July 2013

In previous years I have been unable to do this ride as it's often been on the same day as other events. However this year I was able to take part in and registered early.
As we seem to experiencing a "proper" summer, this month anyway, it was looking like a cracking event. Another ride whereby Mrs S. could have a lie in, I'm spoiling this woman. I got everything ready the night before and set the alarm for 5.30am . I had even had a few bits sorted on the bike, gears reset, replacement seat post, and a new front Schwalbe tyre. On that note if you use Schwalbe Ultremo ZX tyres then be careful. This front tyre had buckled and was misshapen and could have blown at a very crucial time.
So the bike was tip top all it needed was the rider to be the same. I awoke before the alarm and got ready. The plan was to ride the 10 miles or so to Liverpool ready for the 8am start . My intentions were to get there early and soak in a bit of the atmosphere before enjoying the thrill of riding through the older of the two Mersey tunnels.
I left the house just after 6.45 am and with the roads to myself on another beautiful Sunday morning I rode out. I was but one mile into it when I felt the rear tyre wobble and feel very wrong. Assuming I had a puncture I pulled up and checked it. Bizarrely it was still fully inflated. I couldn't believe that this tyre had also buckled just like the front had. So much for Schwalbe Ultremo's then. Luckily I wasn't far from home and rode straight back.
I threw a spare Gatorskin tyre on the rear quickly and within twenty minutes I was riding back toward Liverpool again. Thankfully on quiet roads I was there at the tunnel for 7.30 and in position for 7.45.

Riders ready at the start

I reset the Garmin and double checked everything whilst listening to the compare talk a lot about nothing. It was then I spotted an old work colleague, Mr P. I had spoken via email and Strava earlier in the year and we'd loosely arranged to give each other a nod if we saw ourselves. I'd tipped him off with my race number and a late sartorial change so he could spot me, but it wasn't necessary now.
He was slightly behind me at the start so when the flag dropped I rode slowly for him to catch me up.
I was busy chatting to him and completely missed the fact I was riding through the tunnel. An impatient woman on an immediate sprint behind us , who had to be Mark Cavendish's mum, flew past as if the Champs Elysees was just in sight.
Out of the tunnel we rode and chatted all the way to the halfway point at Chester. It was warm by now, so a welcome break and a chance to refill our water bottles, even if the queue did resemble a scene from an African village during a drought.

Halfway at Chester

So far the route had been hill free, well almost, I felt good. A bit of social media updating and a few flapjacks later we were ready for the return leg. The organisers had left what few hills there are on the Wirral for this bit obviously. One or two of them caught me by surprise, but nothing too taxing. By now the riders were strung out, the hills tend to have this effect.
Again chatting away made the miles disappear quicker than normal and before we knew it we were six miles from the finish.
I was looking forward to the run back through the tunnel. A brief stop at the entrance to sort out a shoe and we both set off. It's a smooth tarmac surface downhill and I decided to give it a flat out go. Sadly the GPS doesn't work underground so I've no real idea of the speed, but it felt fast. Mr P. was reaping the benefits of my ample frame as he slip streamed me down hill , but as we all know, what goes down always goes up. The climb up out of the tunnel at the end of the 50 miles is a tad cruel but unavoidable, but Mr. P's suggestion of a finish line at the bottom of the hill in the tunnel was a good one.
I still felt good and the grind to the top of the hill was a long one but I crossed the finish line in the style of Peter Sagan, but they were a tough crowd to please. Thrust into my hand was a bottle of water, a medal of completion and a pamphlet on a charity sky dive . I barely had time to get out of the way, when I turned to see Mr.P cross the line a minute or so later. His good lady had attended to await his finish and she had thoughtfully bought us both ice lolly pops, bless her.

We watched a few more participants finish and posed for the obligatory post ride photo.  We both agreed to ride home together at more of a warm down pace. So after a rehydrate we both set off for home.

My first time on the LCL and it had been a beautiful day, all the better for the good company. It had been over twenty years since I had spent this much time with Mr. P. and by the sounds of it we'll both  be back for the 21st LCL next year.

60 MILES & still looking fairly fresh.

Mr. P with Ice Pop

St Barnabas Grimsthorpe Challenge 30th June 2013

I found this event listed on the British Cycling website. As luck would have it I was off that weekend and it was all but twenty minutes drive from my sister-in-law's home. So Mrs S and I were able to make a weekend of it. The forecast was going to be excellent as well. Things were  looking good.
To the best of my knowledge this was the first time the event had been held at the beautiful Grimsthorpe Castle and there were three routes to choose from, a 60, 80 and 100 miles. At the time of registering I decided on the 60 miler, just in case the weather was bad, that and the fact I had a three hour drive home later that day.

So at 7.15am on the Sunday,a glorious morning, my brother-in-law Mr K. took me and the bike to Grimsthorpe. An unusual lie in for Mrs.S. My start time was 8.30 , however I was all set up and ready to go by 7.45. My brother-in-law drove off and I cycled along the magnificent driveway of this stately home towards the registration area. There I checked in and was given a wrist timing tag . There where plenty of parked cars there but only a scattering of cyclists. I could only assume that the longer distance riders were already away.
I soaked in the morning sun for a bit until I gave up  waiting and rode to the start . I convinced
the chap at the start to let me set off all of 10 minutes early. The first two miles took me through the grounds of Grimsthorpe and then out towards Rutland Water through some pretty villages which were a joy. I tailed a couple for a few miles as I warmed up my legs before I decided to leave them. The route itself was a loose figure eight, the crossing point being the village of Cottesmore by the RAF base.
The weather was fine and warming up nicely, however the wind was surprisingly strong with upwards of 20 mph gusts . For the first 30 miles it was often in my face, but this would be a good omen for the return 30. The food station was located in a village hall with plenty of bananas, biscuits , energy drinks for weary participants. There was plenty on offer so I drew the conclusion I was  one of the few to reach it early. Upon finishing my second banana the numbers of riders had swelled and a queue was beginning to form. A  good time to leave I thought before my legs seized . Off up the hill I was soon back into the stride  and I settled in amongst several other riders in a small chain gang. The roads where sweeping and smooth and we were able to maintain a fast pace with the wind now behind us. This chain gang eventually broke up as we hit some more hills, dropping off the back I eased up . By now I was riding through Cottesmore for the second time . Here, a dog walker nearly had me on the floor as his dog ran out into the road after me attached to one of those long leads. The dog itself was one of those small yappy type ones, so I'm sure if I'd hit it I wouldn't have noticed. It was the lead stretched out across the width of the road which could have severely shortened my ride. I managed to swerve out of the way with inches to spare and a few choice comments toward the owner.
I pretty much rode the rest of the route on my own as the field was completely strung out by now.

A few nasty little hills in the last 10 miles focused the legs until I was within a mile of the entrance gate. Thoughts of a long sprint down the stately home's driveway soon evaporated as I turned onto it and realised there were speed bumps for most of it. Still I dug in and started to wind up the gears.
The rather grand setting for the finish was somewhat subdued by the lack of onlookers. I'm not quite sure what I expected, but I had a few more people pictured in my mind than this. Still , I'm used to muted applause so made the most of the one or two that bothered to acknowledge my effort. Thank you, whoever you were.
I stopped my Garmin and had my timing device scanned and pushed the bike onto the adjacent grass.
There I took on some water and made a quick call to my brother-in-law to confirm a pick up time.
I also took the opportunity to take a picture of the bike with the grand back drop of the stately home.


I had to return the wrist timing device to the registration area, where a delightful selection of sandwiches and drinks had been laid on by the organisers. I have

 to say that the quality and selection was better than some weddings I've been to, which doesn't say much for my friends and relatives, but  it was impressive and rather delicious.
I rode toward the gate, where I sat awaiting my pick up. Bike back in the car we drove home for a Sunday lunch and a brief rest before driving back home.
A really nice ride through some beautiful villages and scenery made all the better by the wonderful setting and glorious weather. Hopefully I can make it back next year.




  

Manchester to Liverpool Bike Events 26th May 2013

A rare thing indeed, sunny day that is. After enduring a rainy windswept day on the last event a couple of weeks ago, it was with glee I read this weekend's forecast. In the words of  the popular beat combo Elbow "It was looking like a beautiful day". Another early start again with Mrs S. taking me and the bike to the start at The Watersports Centre, Salford Quays, Manchester, which is looking pretty flash these days by the way.
Here participants were gathering, mainly on mountain bikes. In previous years this has been an event purely for those on this type of bike, as it followed a rough  path along the ship canal and  Mersey into Liverpool . However this year along with the shorter off road route there was a longer road route as well.

The usual good facilities at a Bike Events start and a good mix of riders again, not quite on the scale of the Manchester to Blackpool run as it seemed there were not too many gathered for the 8 am start . Plenty of people seemed to be registering on the day , suppose the weather helped and in a worthy cause for the NSPCC.

So the tape dropped and we were all off , mountain and road bikes together through the Quays and away towards Trafford Park.It was a bit stop start with traffic lights and roadworks but  Urmston and Partington rolled by and I found myself in a small chain gang, nicely tucked in I was spinning along lovely. I've found the benefits of this incredible over the last few events and as long as you take your turn on the front everyone seems happy. So over Warburton bridge, no charge on a bike, towards Culcheth. Up to now it was all nice and flat with the odd bump. The morning chill was burning off and things were warming up nicely. I hadn't been given the route card prior to the event nor had it been published anywhere,well not in any detail. So it was here the road started to rise up out of Culcheth through Lowton and Garswood up Billinge Hill. Well I wasn't expecting that climb. Needless to say the chain gang broke up and strung out. Before I knew it those fellas back wheels I'd been so close to for 25 miles were now a dot in the distance as I paced my way up the climb.

At the top the view was magnificent with a handful of riders stopped there admiring it, by the way taking on some drink and rest. Some were as surprised as me about the sneaky climb. I'm not that familiar with the terrain in these parts and assumed, wrongly as it happens, the whole route was flat as...  The drop down was rapid though and it wasn't long before I was spinning back to my usual pace. I could have been on a ride by myself for this part of the route as nobody past me. Other than the occasional event sign at the junctions to remind me what I was doing, I could have easily forgotten.

The route meandered through Rainford and toward Simmonswood and Kirkby. The rising tower blocks confirmed this.Skirting around Kirkby and the Knowsley Estate I was now into the urban suburbs of Huyton, Belle Vale towards Woolton. It was here, in between those two very different areas that I felt the dreaded firm tarmac through the seat, a rear wheel puncture about 7 miles from the finish. My heart sank, "bugger", well something along those lines, I thought. Oh yes, riders passed me now to remind me. They were all very friendly  though, asking if I was okay . First time using my new pump was a bit of a faff  but I managed to get enough air in the new tube to get me going again. I couldn't find what had caused the puncture, but prayed it wouldn't happen again as I was out of spare tubes now.

In the 20 minutes it had taken me to get going again my body had relaxed and wasn't impressed when I tried to push on. With a little cruel kick of a climb out of Woolton Village toward Allerton and past the infamous Strawberry Fields all the mountain bike riders rejoined us again as the routes converged.

Down to Riversdale and the sight of the Mersey onto the prom was a sure sign of the finish nearing.. The weather was magnificent and in true Bank Holiday tradition the crowds were out. I weaved along this bit in and out of the day trippers until finally I saw the finish. Raised up to my right I was suddenly directed toward a steep path which I was completely unprepared for. In  totally the wrong gear and with my momentum carrying  me up the tarmac path I slowed as the path ended, turning into a  grass field . Well on a road bike this isn't exactly easy. With several onlookers clapping I dug in to maintain some kind of dignity and speed. My right  leg suddenly cramped, obviously shocked at this sudden effort. Thankfully I crossed the line as it did and took a minute when I stopped. A bottle of water and another certificate for the garage wall.

I knew someone at the finish, they had done the mountain bike route and spotted me. we sat talking about our day and cycling nonsense, but in the back of my mind I had another 13 miles to ride home. He lent me a spare tube and a go with his more substantial pump on my tyre. I was very nice there lay  in the sun but eventually I dragged myself up and said my goodbye before a steady ride home. This time without incident.

A nice ride on a beautiful day, 70 miles done and another step toward my London to Paris fitness.

Lancashire Lanes Sportive Sunday 12th May 2013

This was a "must do" sportive when I first heard about it back in February. A 75 mile ride over Winter Hill and Belmont Village organised by a local club, Liverpool Mercury in association with my preferred bike supplier, Dolan Bikes. A good cause to, Marie Currie Cancer Charity.So for the first time I didn't need to bribe Mrs. S to take me or neither would I have to get up at ridiculous o'clock to drive to the event. I could ride there and enjoy the day. All I wanted was good weather.....Ahem.

As is the trend at the moment with the weather, the seasons seem to be back to front, gales and heavy rain forecast for an early summer Sunday, didn't inspire me. I was pleased to see several colleagues with whom I'd worked with in the past, were also participating.

Along with one of these, Bill, we rode to the start at the Parish Hall for 8:30 am. Despite the forecast conditions seemed promising, however I'd decided to be cautious and not take my new carbon bike but the old faithful winter one, which was still sporting  it's mudguards. This would prove to be a  good decision later. Several hundred riders congregated near to the start as the organisers tried to relay last minute route changes due to roadworks on the way. Like horses at the Grand National start we gathered by the road before we were off. Lots of local north west club riders were here and keen to get going as they set off in their groups. Compared to what I'm used to, which is mainly riding alone, the pace was blistering. I was able to comfortably stay within the groups which does make a difference. I smashed every Strava PR I had for the first 20 miles or so. 

However, this rip-roaring speed in the initial stages would come home to roost later on. I got a little carried away I think. Things started to string out as we reached the first climbs. Bill had left me and turned back , as he'd a prior appointment and couldn't complete the full event.

So there I was alone, the occasional club rider flying past me as I rode at my usual pace.

I had ridden the route back in March just after it was published on their site. This was purely to see if I was capable of completing it in a reasonable time. So I knew the climbing that lay ahead and was conserving a bit for that. 

As I reached the Rivington Reservoir, I mentally stalled. should I take a break here ? 

I decided to push on even though I could feel a bit of muscle cramp in my legs. That early pace was having an effect. Somewhat concerned at this unusual early fatigue, I hit the climb with some apprehension. I normally don't feel the cramp until at least 60 or so miles and often not at all. This was a worrying development.   

My diesel engine approach to hills has served me well in the past and having completed this hill a few weeks previous I was confident of making it. Head down and push, a few riders past me but thankfully they were not exactly flying up themselves. Soon enough Belmont village was reached and I didn't have to crick my neck to see the the winter hill mast any more.

I spun along happily but my legs were cramping again following the effort. Choosing a smaller ring I  took the strain off them and to add insult to injury the rain began to fall. A brief stop to put my waterproof on eased the stiffness in the thighs and the ride to Brindle would be a bit easier.

Brindle, turning left at the aptly named Cavendish Arms, with not a sprint left in me I free wheeled  into the village hall and was greeted by hundreds of abandoned bikes. Not a wall or kerb was free here as this was the rest stop. The organisers had laid on a lavish banquet of beans on toast, tea, biscuits and juice. With the queue spilling out of the door I drank the rest of my liquid and ate one of my banana specials. Unsure whether or not to grab a meal I concluded that a brief break would assist me greatly and duly joined the queue. 

I sat down with my food at a table where a few riders were sat, one of them asked us how well we knew the area as his friend had missed the turn at Rivington and in an effort to rectify the error was now in Bolton. Christ I thought, I'd cut my losses and head home.

He was in mid conversation with them when I made my excuses and left . 

I was getting too comfortable there so I stuck my gloves and helmet back on topped up my bottle and grabbed a biscuit before leaving. It was raining more heavily now as I set  off for the remaining 32 miles home. I was alone again apart from the occasional group crossing my path from obviously the wrong way,trying to get back on course. A few times I was asked if I knew where I was. 

The rain grew heavier and the wind stronger, both in my face. This proved to be mentally sapping.

Not for the first time I questioned my decision to participate in this event and the fact I had taken a days leave for this punishment. The familiar villages rolled passed me seemingly slower than I had even ridden through them before.  Leyland, Eccleston and Mawdsley. Eccleston is the home of Sir Bradley and there was some suggestion his wife was riding this event, I never saw her and if she was, by now I think she'd have called it a day. 

The weather was more akin to a November weekday as it seeped into every corner of my clothing.

As I left Mawdsley I was caught by a group of about 8 riders who pretty much saved me from delirium. In the nick of time I was able to shield myself from the elements in the middle and maintain a steady pace.

 The conversation took our minds off the worsening weather for a few miles before the pace of the group meant a few of us dropped off the back by the last pull up at Ormskirk. The drag over this hill of which I am so familiar was tough. My legs were leaden and I was ready for a hot bath. 

I dragged myself over it and rejoined Rick, one of the old boys in the group with whom I'd chatted to. The final 2 or so miles we rode together and shared our days aches and pains . 

Arriving back I rested my bike against the wall and gingerly walked through the doors.

Cyclists sat along  a trestle table with steam rising from them. I collected a rather small cheap certificate by way of acknowledgement of my achievement and pondered how to get it home dry.

A quick biscuit and two brews later I wrung out my gloves and jumped back on the bike for the final push home.

A rewarding day and given the good cause, cheap cost of the event I can only complain about the awful weather. 

Jodrell Bank Classic Cyclosportive 10th March 2013

5 am Sunday 10 th March 2013 , I awoke well before the alarm. I wasn't sure if it was the apprehension of an 80 mile ride or the weather forecast which was grim to say the least. I'd sorted the car out the day before, but in the few minutes it took to place my bike on the rack, my hands were frozen, not a good sign. It took me about 50 minutes to drive to Poynton Leisure Centre where the attendants were working furiously to organise cars neatly as they arrived. I was lucky and parked quickly. The wind was gusting straight off the Urals right through the car park as the snow began to fall, I wondered why I'd thought this was a good idea. I'd had the choice of a 30, 50 or 80 mile ride when I booked this. In my efforts to gain experience of bigger miles to help my London to Paris fitness, I hadn't considered doing anything less than the 80, until now.
As 8 am loomed, the official start time of the event, I made my way to the start. Wrapped in several layers of clothing I was keen to get going and warm up. Just after the hour I was off alone, but with dozens of other like minded riders.

A few miles in I felt good, the winter training was making a difference, albeit a small one. I'd programmed the Garmin with the 80 mile course, but the signs were well placed and I didn't need to worry for the first dozen or so miles as everyone was doing the same route. I rode west toward Wilmslow and through Alderley Edge onto Mobberley. Here the route split for those on the 50 and 80 mile stints. A diversion around Tatton Park brought us back to Knutsford  and then Mobberley again. Briefly into the head wind which had been so helpful behind me, was now most unwelcome. A wind chill of -4 degrees into my face, you can sense my joy. I turned south and headed toward Middlewich . A 15 minute stop near to here gave me the chance to re fuel with energy drinks and flapjacks and lifted my spirits. I knew the worst was to come, 40 miles of head winds and two steep climbs lay ahead. The legs felt good and I'd teamed up with another rider doing the 80 miles alone. We shared a few war stories and decided to help each other out swapping lead riding positions as the wind gusted stronger or so it seemed. He confessed to me that his achillies heal was hills, not exactly my favourite either. After 40 minutes or so we separated and I watched him ride on ahead as I slowed and took on more liquid. We would meet again in the latter stages.
By now I was  heading towards Congleton and up towards Macclesfield. At times here I thought I was alone and the event had finished, it was only the route signs and the occasional rider at the road side that reassured me I had not been forgotten. There had been over seven hundred riders registered and only a small percentage had gone for the 80 mile route and I suspected some of those had seen the forecast and not even turned up. I can't say I blamed them, by 65 miles I was in the hurt locker myself. I had some emergency banana butties smothered in golden syrup that I downed as if my life depended on it. Well it kind of did . It seemed like forever that ride to Prestbury, but this village with the partly cobbled road surface was a sure sign that I was getting close now.
Bollington, I have only ever been here once before, last summer on a ride, I knew the severity of the hill out of the village. That time I had the joy of free wheeling down it,  sadly the opposite lay ahead. As I rode through the village I mulled over in my mind whether or not I should take a break before the climb up what I'd describe as the Hovis Hill. I decided to push on, my leaden legs slowly pulled me up and past my fellow rider who was not wrong about his weakness for hills. Bless him, he was off the bike and pushing it along the pavement.I offered some words of encouragement and rode past. I felt bad that I hadn't stopped, but I knew I would never have clipped back into my pedals again had I done so.
The hill soon leveled out and I could change gear to a more manly cog and pick up speed. The elevation was slow and gradual on this bit and I yearned for a sign that read Poynton. Soon enough it came and I caught up with two riders tailing them for the final few miles down hill.
Through the suburban streets and into Poynton Leisure Centre to the finish. The car park was almost empty and people were packing up and leaving. The poor compare who'd set us off over 6 and a bit hours ago was still desperately cracking jokes and in a scene reminiscent of the final moments on the deck of the Titanic, he played on.
I was thankful there was some sense of  acknowledgement of my achievement, if only by this guy.
I followed some of the other finishing riders to the sports hall where hot drinks and food were being served. Here I collected my printed certificate complete with blank spaces to put my name on and a cup of coffee.
I didn't dwell and shoved the bike on the rack satisfied with my days ride and another step nearer my goal.

Plans for 2013

It's been a busy month, January . The purchase of a Turbo Trainer has been a great success so far. I've been able to get on the bike whatever the weather. This year's big trip will not be another Coast to Coast but an organised 4 day  trip from London to Paris in September. I'll be doing it with my Nephew.. So in preparation I've thrown myself on several Sportive / Charity rides this year to get me up to  a reasonable level of fitness. I've put myself in the ballot for Ride London 100 in August, I'll find out in the next few weeks if they've been foolish enough to pick me. 20,000 places and 50.000 applicants. I've also plumped for the Jodrell Bank Classic in March. An 80 ride through Cheshire. There are a couple of possible events in June but nothing booked yet. I'd like to do the Liverpool Chester Liverpool tunnel run in July but this may be difficult due to work commitments. As will the Manchester 100 in September.  But I'm booked in for the Bike Events - Manchester Blackpool run again .