D
Danny Colyer
Guest
There was a time when I would often go out at the
weekend and enjoy a 70 or 80 mile ride, or occasionally
a bit further. But that was before my beloved and I
became an item.
On 10 July 1998 (a week after I first asked Catherine out),
I towed my BoB 140 miles to a juggling convention. Then I
took 3 days over getting home. That was the last time I rode
more than 60 miles in a day, and I can only think of five
occasions when I've ridden more than 30 miles. Since then
I've wanted to spend my weekends with Catherine (and more
recently with the kids), and she hasn't wanted to do that
sort of mileage.
But I've missed my long rides, and for years I've intended
to ride the Avon Cycleway, an 85 mile (according to the
leaflet) loop around the outside of Bristol. Last year I
agreed with a friend that we'd ride it together this summer.
As Catherine's taken the kids to her mum's for a few days,
and I've booked Monday to Wednesday off work to make the
most of a few days to myself, this weekend seemed an ideal
opportunity.
To start with I wasn't at all sure about my ability to
complete the ride, it being my first long ride in 6 years
and the first ever on the recumbent (I arbitrarily define
'long' as anything over about 70 miles). I was even less
confident about Jamie, although he seemed sure enough of
himself. I had no doubts about his fitness, but I knew he
hadn't put in many miles on the Speed Machine. When it
came to it, he seemed to finish the ride a lot fresher
than I did.
I arranged to meet Jamie at Warmley Station (on the Bath-
Bristol cyclepath) at 10:00 on Sunday morning. I had thought
long and hard about which of my 3 pairs of cycling shoes to
wear for a ride of this length, but one look out the window
on the morning of the ride confirmed that it had to be the
sandals. Throwing fashion caution to the wind, I also slung
a pair of socks in a pannier just in case we were late back
and it got chilly. Thankfully I didn't need them.
With my ever improving slaphead credentials I deemed it
prudent to wear a cap, but that didn't last more than an
hour before I decided it was just too hot.
After a hearty breakfast of porridge, I left home at 09:55
and arrived at Warmley Station dead on time, to find that
Jamie had already been there for a few minutes. The first 5
miles (along the cyclepath) were of very little interest to
me, as I ride them every morning on my way to work. It all
got a bit more interesting after we passed my office.
From Saltford, our route (NCN Regional Route 10) coincided
with NCN National Route 3. I was impressed by how well
signposted Route 3 was, and said as much. 2 miles later we
found ourselves retracing our tyre tracks having missed the
turning for Burnett. It turned out that there *was* a sign
but it was buried in a tree.
When we found our turning, we stopped for a snack. I took
my first photo of the day and removed my sweaty cycling
cap. While we were stopped, Jamie was stung 3 times by a
bee. Yes, I know it's surprising to be stung 3 times by the
same bee, but it was definitely a bee (I helped him get it
out of his jersey), it definitely didn't leave it's sting
behind (I saw it clearly) and there were definitely 3
puncture marks (which Jamie hoped to use for sympathy from
his wife later on).
2 miles later (after a fantastic descent) we stopped at
Compton Dando to take my second photo (of the church), only
to find that my camera battery was flat. Catherine had the
digital camera in Sevenoaks with her, so I had my old film
camera with the 3-year-old film that I hoped to use up.
Until shortly before leaving I also had the disposable
camera that lives in my pannier, but I had discarded it
because I felt I was carrying too much.
We stopped again for another snack 3 miles later, in the
shade of the magnificent Pensford Viaduct. I wished I had a
working camera with me.
Somewhere between Stanton Drew and Chew Valley Lake, Route
10 seems to part company with Route 3. We hadn't realised
this and, not having seen any Route 10 signs, carried on
following Route 3. This fortuitous mistake led us to the
Spar in Bishop Sutton, where I was able to buy a camera
battery. Then, once we worked out where we were, we were
soon able to find our way to the Northern shore of the lake
where we stopped for lunch. We were watched by a young boy
who was fascinated by our bikes and whose father, had he
wanted to get away, would have had little hope of shifting
the child until he had seen us ride off.
Soon after Chew Valley Lake, Regional Route 10 rejoins
National Route 3 for a few more miles, so we again had
adequate signage. When the routes again diverged, Route 10
was clearly marked. We rode the next 14 miles to Clevedon
with few navigational problems. When I noticed on the map
that we were passing close to Nempnett Thrubwell, I resisted
the temptation to suggest a detour to see just what The
Wurzels were singing about.
On the approach to Clevedon we had a continuous 3 mile
descent. While I reflected on how nice it was to have a
bike that could be ridden at 30+mph with no stability
problems even when heavily laden, I also couldn't help
thinking about the cyclists' theory of gravity. What goes
down, must go back up.
At Chelvey we stopped again and had a long chat with a local
cyclist who had stopped for a can of lager. He was surprised
that we were planning to ride the whole of the Avon Cycleway
in one day, but reckoned we should make pretty short work of
it on the recumbents.
In Clevedon I prodded my scalp and decided it was starting
to go pink, so I put my cap back on and kept it on until the
sun was low enough to pose no threat.
From Clevedon, the route runs alongside the M5 for about 7
miles. Somewhere along there, 39 miles into the ride, Jamie
suffered the only puncture of the trip. A snakebite caused
by hitting a pothole with underinflated tyres. Stelvios
have a minimum pressure rating of 85psi, but when I
squeezed the other tyre I estimated the pressure at about
60psi. After helping him remove the wheel, I took the
opportunity to have a snack and replenish my sun cream. And
to take a photo of Jamie fixing a puncture
At Clapton in Gordano, while we were stopped to look at the
map, we were passed by a couple of upright cyclists who
seemed to be going our way and to know where they were
going. After catching them up on a descent, it transpired
that they were riding at the same speed as we were. So we
followed them for the next 3 miles. Just before Pill they
turned down a side road that wasn't signposted as part of
the route, so we stopped to check the map.
After a brief discussion with a very nice lady who told
us we looked great on our bikes, we concluded that they
had gone the right way, so we headed off down there
ourselves. And got lost. We should have just kept
following the other guys.
The Wurzels sang about Pill as well ("Pill, Pill, I love
thee still"). Dunno why, from what little I've seen of it
it's a dump.
Eventually we found our way to the mile long bridge where
the M5 (and the cyclepath alongside it) crosses the Avon. On
the ascent to the bridge I was mildly amused by the signs
saying "Maximum Speed 15mph", but not as amused as if I
hadn't already seen a sign saying that mopeds and scooters
were allowed to use the path.
On the bridge itself we leapfrogged each other, each taking
photos of the other riding. Standing on a motorway bridge
when a lorry goes past is *very* disconcerting. Then towards
the end we checked to see where we were going next, and at
this point we noticed a difference between our route guides.
My 1998 edition directed us up the B4055 towards Henbury,
while Jamie's 2001 edition directed us up an off-road
cyclepath that presumably didn't exist in 1998. We decided
to follow the more recent guide, ending up on Route 41 and
seemingly on a route marked on Jamie's map as "proposed
future route for the Avon Cycleway".
Then we got lost again. We continued to follow Route 41 in
the hope that it was going where we wanted to go, but we
really didn't know where we were. We'd have been much better
off following my older route guide. Still, by following
Route 41 we eventually found a sign for Route 10. I also got
some great pictures for my farcilities page - the gates on
Route 41 are ludicrous.
The rest of the route was reasonably well signposted.
Somewhere around Olveston (about 60 miles in) I started to
tire, and for the next 15 miles the hills seemed cruel. At
about 70 miles Jamie phoned his wife to tell her he'd be
home a couple of hours later than expected, and got an
earful. Then somewhere around Yate, knowing we were on the
home run, I caught my second wind. Unfortunately that was
also when it got dark, so we really had to keep a sharp eye
out to see the little brown route signs. Lighting wasn't a
problem, as both our bikes are fitted with SON hub
dynoamoes and Lumotec Oval Plus lights. Jamie also had one
of his Lumicycles with him, but I only had a couple of
LED's for backup.
On the outskirts of Yate we joined another off-road
cyclepath for a few hundred yards. It was tarmacced, with a
bridleway running alongside it and a sign instructing
equestrians to keep off the tarmac. So, predictably enough,
the tarmac was liberally sprinkled with horseshit.
The next 9 miles seemed a lot easier than the previous 30.
Jamie and I parted company at Mangotsfield Station, by which
time it was nearly 2 hours later than he had originally told
his wife to expect him home. And he had to get up for work
in the morning. I felt very glad that my wife was away and I
/didn't/ have to get up for work in the morning.
I had another mile of the loop left to ride. Jamie had
already ridden it on his way to meet me in the morning. But
before tackling it, I stopped for a flapjack and drained the
last of my water.
I had always intended, if I felt up to it when I reached
Warmley Station for the second time, to add another loop
to take my mileage up to the magic 100 mile mark. I was
actually feeling pretty shattered by the time I returned
to Warmley Station, and I'd been getting twinges in my
right knee for the last couple of miles. But with my
computer reading
94.97 miles, I decided to go for it. Perhaps not a wise
decision, given the knee twinges, but who knows when the
next opportunity to complete a century will be?
I headed first for the drinking fountain a few hundred yards
further along the cyclepath. Then I went to explore some of
the local sections of the ring road cyclepath that I've
never bothered with before, discovering some interesting
links. When I finally reached my front door, at one minute
to midnight, feeling very ready for the big bowl of pasta
that I had thankfully prepared the night before, and with my
knee killing me, my computer showed a trip distance of
101.21 miles at an average speed of 11.2mph. I would have
liked to have gone a little bit further, knowing that my
computer could conceivably be out by as much as 2%, but I
really didn't want to ride any further with that knee.
(I remember that I used to allow for an average speed of
10mph for long rides, but I couldn't remember whether that
included stops or not. After taking 14 hours to complete a
century, I can only conclude that it probably didn't).
I don't think I've ever felt less like stretching, but
stretch I did. After a good night's sleep the only serious
aches were in my Achilles tendons, which I hadn't thought to
stretch because I've never had a problem with them before.
At no point did I suffer any of the back or neck aches that
would have resulted from doing this ride on an upright bike.
Overall it was a good ride, and my first long ride with
company, which was nice. And now we know that we should be
OK on the 60 miler that we plan to do next weekend (Clevedon
Challenge in Bristol's Biggest Bike Ride, plus the ride to
the start and home again at the end): <URL:http://www.bristol-
city.gov.uk/tourism/bbbr_2004_index.html>
Much of the route is along the same roads that we rode on
Sunday, but in the opposite direction. I did the same ride
on the Street Machine 3 years ago, so I hoped I should be
OK, but of course you can lose a lot of fitness in 3 years.
--
Danny Colyer (the UK company has been laughed out of my
reply address)
<URL:http://www.speedy5.freeserve.co.uk/danny/> "He who
dares not offend cannot be honest." - Thomas Paine
weekend and enjoy a 70 or 80 mile ride, or occasionally
a bit further. But that was before my beloved and I
became an item.
On 10 July 1998 (a week after I first asked Catherine out),
I towed my BoB 140 miles to a juggling convention. Then I
took 3 days over getting home. That was the last time I rode
more than 60 miles in a day, and I can only think of five
occasions when I've ridden more than 30 miles. Since then
I've wanted to spend my weekends with Catherine (and more
recently with the kids), and she hasn't wanted to do that
sort of mileage.
But I've missed my long rides, and for years I've intended
to ride the Avon Cycleway, an 85 mile (according to the
leaflet) loop around the outside of Bristol. Last year I
agreed with a friend that we'd ride it together this summer.
As Catherine's taken the kids to her mum's for a few days,
and I've booked Monday to Wednesday off work to make the
most of a few days to myself, this weekend seemed an ideal
opportunity.
To start with I wasn't at all sure about my ability to
complete the ride, it being my first long ride in 6 years
and the first ever on the recumbent (I arbitrarily define
'long' as anything over about 70 miles). I was even less
confident about Jamie, although he seemed sure enough of
himself. I had no doubts about his fitness, but I knew he
hadn't put in many miles on the Speed Machine. When it
came to it, he seemed to finish the ride a lot fresher
than I did.
I arranged to meet Jamie at Warmley Station (on the Bath-
Bristol cyclepath) at 10:00 on Sunday morning. I had thought
long and hard about which of my 3 pairs of cycling shoes to
wear for a ride of this length, but one look out the window
on the morning of the ride confirmed that it had to be the
sandals. Throwing fashion caution to the wind, I also slung
a pair of socks in a pannier just in case we were late back
and it got chilly. Thankfully I didn't need them.
With my ever improving slaphead credentials I deemed it
prudent to wear a cap, but that didn't last more than an
hour before I decided it was just too hot.
After a hearty breakfast of porridge, I left home at 09:55
and arrived at Warmley Station dead on time, to find that
Jamie had already been there for a few minutes. The first 5
miles (along the cyclepath) were of very little interest to
me, as I ride them every morning on my way to work. It all
got a bit more interesting after we passed my office.
From Saltford, our route (NCN Regional Route 10) coincided
with NCN National Route 3. I was impressed by how well
signposted Route 3 was, and said as much. 2 miles later we
found ourselves retracing our tyre tracks having missed the
turning for Burnett. It turned out that there *was* a sign
but it was buried in a tree.
When we found our turning, we stopped for a snack. I took
my first photo of the day and removed my sweaty cycling
cap. While we were stopped, Jamie was stung 3 times by a
bee. Yes, I know it's surprising to be stung 3 times by the
same bee, but it was definitely a bee (I helped him get it
out of his jersey), it definitely didn't leave it's sting
behind (I saw it clearly) and there were definitely 3
puncture marks (which Jamie hoped to use for sympathy from
his wife later on).
2 miles later (after a fantastic descent) we stopped at
Compton Dando to take my second photo (of the church), only
to find that my camera battery was flat. Catherine had the
digital camera in Sevenoaks with her, so I had my old film
camera with the 3-year-old film that I hoped to use up.
Until shortly before leaving I also had the disposable
camera that lives in my pannier, but I had discarded it
because I felt I was carrying too much.
We stopped again for another snack 3 miles later, in the
shade of the magnificent Pensford Viaduct. I wished I had a
working camera with me.
Somewhere between Stanton Drew and Chew Valley Lake, Route
10 seems to part company with Route 3. We hadn't realised
this and, not having seen any Route 10 signs, carried on
following Route 3. This fortuitous mistake led us to the
Spar in Bishop Sutton, where I was able to buy a camera
battery. Then, once we worked out where we were, we were
soon able to find our way to the Northern shore of the lake
where we stopped for lunch. We were watched by a young boy
who was fascinated by our bikes and whose father, had he
wanted to get away, would have had little hope of shifting
the child until he had seen us ride off.
Soon after Chew Valley Lake, Regional Route 10 rejoins
National Route 3 for a few more miles, so we again had
adequate signage. When the routes again diverged, Route 10
was clearly marked. We rode the next 14 miles to Clevedon
with few navigational problems. When I noticed on the map
that we were passing close to Nempnett Thrubwell, I resisted
the temptation to suggest a detour to see just what The
Wurzels were singing about.
On the approach to Clevedon we had a continuous 3 mile
descent. While I reflected on how nice it was to have a
bike that could be ridden at 30+mph with no stability
problems even when heavily laden, I also couldn't help
thinking about the cyclists' theory of gravity. What goes
down, must go back up.
At Chelvey we stopped again and had a long chat with a local
cyclist who had stopped for a can of lager. He was surprised
that we were planning to ride the whole of the Avon Cycleway
in one day, but reckoned we should make pretty short work of
it on the recumbents.
In Clevedon I prodded my scalp and decided it was starting
to go pink, so I put my cap back on and kept it on until the
sun was low enough to pose no threat.
From Clevedon, the route runs alongside the M5 for about 7
miles. Somewhere along there, 39 miles into the ride, Jamie
suffered the only puncture of the trip. A snakebite caused
by hitting a pothole with underinflated tyres. Stelvios
have a minimum pressure rating of 85psi, but when I
squeezed the other tyre I estimated the pressure at about
60psi. After helping him remove the wheel, I took the
opportunity to have a snack and replenish my sun cream. And
to take a photo of Jamie fixing a puncture
At Clapton in Gordano, while we were stopped to look at the
map, we were passed by a couple of upright cyclists who
seemed to be going our way and to know where they were
going. After catching them up on a descent, it transpired
that they were riding at the same speed as we were. So we
followed them for the next 3 miles. Just before Pill they
turned down a side road that wasn't signposted as part of
the route, so we stopped to check the map.
After a brief discussion with a very nice lady who told
us we looked great on our bikes, we concluded that they
had gone the right way, so we headed off down there
ourselves. And got lost. We should have just kept
following the other guys.
The Wurzels sang about Pill as well ("Pill, Pill, I love
thee still"). Dunno why, from what little I've seen of it
it's a dump.
Eventually we found our way to the mile long bridge where
the M5 (and the cyclepath alongside it) crosses the Avon. On
the ascent to the bridge I was mildly amused by the signs
saying "Maximum Speed 15mph", but not as amused as if I
hadn't already seen a sign saying that mopeds and scooters
were allowed to use the path.
On the bridge itself we leapfrogged each other, each taking
photos of the other riding. Standing on a motorway bridge
when a lorry goes past is *very* disconcerting. Then towards
the end we checked to see where we were going next, and at
this point we noticed a difference between our route guides.
My 1998 edition directed us up the B4055 towards Henbury,
while Jamie's 2001 edition directed us up an off-road
cyclepath that presumably didn't exist in 1998. We decided
to follow the more recent guide, ending up on Route 41 and
seemingly on a route marked on Jamie's map as "proposed
future route for the Avon Cycleway".
Then we got lost again. We continued to follow Route 41 in
the hope that it was going where we wanted to go, but we
really didn't know where we were. We'd have been much better
off following my older route guide. Still, by following
Route 41 we eventually found a sign for Route 10. I also got
some great pictures for my farcilities page - the gates on
Route 41 are ludicrous.
The rest of the route was reasonably well signposted.
Somewhere around Olveston (about 60 miles in) I started to
tire, and for the next 15 miles the hills seemed cruel. At
about 70 miles Jamie phoned his wife to tell her he'd be
home a couple of hours later than expected, and got an
earful. Then somewhere around Yate, knowing we were on the
home run, I caught my second wind. Unfortunately that was
also when it got dark, so we really had to keep a sharp eye
out to see the little brown route signs. Lighting wasn't a
problem, as both our bikes are fitted with SON hub
dynoamoes and Lumotec Oval Plus lights. Jamie also had one
of his Lumicycles with him, but I only had a couple of
LED's for backup.
On the outskirts of Yate we joined another off-road
cyclepath for a few hundred yards. It was tarmacced, with a
bridleway running alongside it and a sign instructing
equestrians to keep off the tarmac. So, predictably enough,
the tarmac was liberally sprinkled with horseshit.
The next 9 miles seemed a lot easier than the previous 30.
Jamie and I parted company at Mangotsfield Station, by which
time it was nearly 2 hours later than he had originally told
his wife to expect him home. And he had to get up for work
in the morning. I felt very glad that my wife was away and I
/didn't/ have to get up for work in the morning.
I had another mile of the loop left to ride. Jamie had
already ridden it on his way to meet me in the morning. But
before tackling it, I stopped for a flapjack and drained the
last of my water.
I had always intended, if I felt up to it when I reached
Warmley Station for the second time, to add another loop
to take my mileage up to the magic 100 mile mark. I was
actually feeling pretty shattered by the time I returned
to Warmley Station, and I'd been getting twinges in my
right knee for the last couple of miles. But with my
computer reading
94.97 miles, I decided to go for it. Perhaps not a wise
decision, given the knee twinges, but who knows when the
next opportunity to complete a century will be?
I headed first for the drinking fountain a few hundred yards
further along the cyclepath. Then I went to explore some of
the local sections of the ring road cyclepath that I've
never bothered with before, discovering some interesting
links. When I finally reached my front door, at one minute
to midnight, feeling very ready for the big bowl of pasta
that I had thankfully prepared the night before, and with my
knee killing me, my computer showed a trip distance of
101.21 miles at an average speed of 11.2mph. I would have
liked to have gone a little bit further, knowing that my
computer could conceivably be out by as much as 2%, but I
really didn't want to ride any further with that knee.
(I remember that I used to allow for an average speed of
10mph for long rides, but I couldn't remember whether that
included stops or not. After taking 14 hours to complete a
century, I can only conclude that it probably didn't).
I don't think I've ever felt less like stretching, but
stretch I did. After a good night's sleep the only serious
aches were in my Achilles tendons, which I hadn't thought to
stretch because I've never had a problem with them before.
At no point did I suffer any of the back or neck aches that
would have resulted from doing this ride on an upright bike.
Overall it was a good ride, and my first long ride with
company, which was nice. And now we know that we should be
OK on the 60 miler that we plan to do next weekend (Clevedon
Challenge in Bristol's Biggest Bike Ride, plus the ride to
the start and home again at the end): <URL:http://www.bristol-
city.gov.uk/tourism/bbbr_2004_index.html>
Much of the route is along the same roads that we rode on
Sunday, but in the opposite direction. I did the same ride
on the Street Machine 3 years ago, so I hoped I should be
OK, but of course you can lose a lot of fitness in 3 years.
--
Danny Colyer (the UK company has been laughed out of my
reply address)
<URL:http://www.speedy5.freeserve.co.uk/danny/> "He who
dares not offend cannot be honest." - Thomas Paine
