Hangtime 0.62 seconds
Cycling Misadventures Series
I nearly packed it in.
Quit before I had even really begun. Not because of the distance or because of the terrain or because of the Cat3 climb on gravel, stoney, lime rockyness. Not even because I wasn't really fit enough.
Because it was so bloody hot already!.
I left home just after 7am and drove over to the Yorkshire Dales. I was riding by 10am, hoping to beat the worst of the heat, but I didn't. The sun had already won.
The first few miles were a cruel lesson.
The climbs were far steeper than I remembered from walking and running them, the limestone was rougher than I expected it to be by bike (Settle Saunter).
Before long I was pushing the bike uphill wondering if I'd made a terrible decision to choose this route today.
Then came the spectacular dismount.
The bike skidded, I dropped it and on one leg, my dodgy ankle leg, I somehow hopped off, remaining upright! The bike on the floor, water bottles thrown from it.
It could have been much messier looking at the rugged uneven limestone. Probably a break with mountain rescue called out.
There were cows blocking gates and not mooo-ving. There were sheep milling around, running haphazardly infront of the bike. There were groups of hikers.
Everyone seemed to be coping with the heat better than I was. Was I really so overweight and unfit. Then the Dales did what the Dales does.
The valleys opened up. The gravel tracks stretched into the distance, weaving between dry stone walls and green hills that seemed to roll on forever.
The kind of landscape that reminded me why I loaded the bike into the car before most people had even finished breakfast.
I walked the steepest climbs, cautiously picked my way through the rough uneven limestone, especially after my fall, near miss. My confidence was a little shaken.
But I rode far more than I thought I would and enjoyed the simplicity that crunching tyres on gravel brings to me.
I stopped at my turn around point (I know this route well, there was no way I was trying to descend the limestone trail) to eat my looking sorry for itself wrap and now ripened banana.
Sitting on a bouncy cushion of sphagnum moss, looking over at Pen-y-ghent in the distance under blue skies.
The return ride home came with a gift.A beautiful every direction wind. Breezy and cooling. The route rolled more down now than up. Coasting freely after battling the climbs in the heat.
On the way back I made what I thought was another sensible decision and I skipped the section where I'd fallen earlier.
Not because I couldn't do it but because the downhill was ridiculously steep, loose stone and I'd already had enough of a fright, excitement for one day.
Instead, I took the road.
Which led to freewheeling and braking down a country lane and loudly asking “OMG - Why is it so fuckin' steep?"
Apparently even the tarmac wasn't prepared to cut me any slack today
Back at the café, I ordered poached eggs on sourdough and a decaf latte. Simple food has never tasted so good.
People often think adventure is about conquering everything. Riding every climb. Never putting a foot down. Not getting it wrong.
But today reminded me that adventure is also pushing when I need to, picking yourself up abd getting back on wen I fall.
Changing my route without feeling like I've failed, and sitting in a café afterwards with dusty legs, tired arms and a story that's much better because it didn't all go to plan.
Besides, Garmin says I got in a jump, Hangtime 0.62 seconds. Who am I to argue with statistics?!.
