Isle of Wet

Waiting to board at Yarmouth

“Do you think I need to carry a gillet today?” was the question I asked Mike and Henry as we we’re taking the bikes off the car in the car park close to the Lymington ferry terminal. With hindsight it was a poignant question and one that I’m glad I listened to Mike’s sensible answer that it was worth carrying just in case, rather than Henry’s “I’m not gonna bother, you need to man the F$%k up.”


The skies looked grey, confirming the promised forecast of showers, as we rode the short distance to collect tickets, banana and chocolate biscuit at the ferry terminal. It’s the first time I’d ever entered a calendared Audax event and I was excited at the possibilities that lay ahead. Sportives have usually been my thing but recent entries have rocketed up in price and in some cases, failed to deliver. An event for £17 that promised three ferries and some refreshments was an absolute bargain in my eyes. Mike assured me that the term “ferry” should be used loosely with regards to the chain ferry at Cowes but I remained optimistic.

We left port and set sail for the low seas, catching up on recent news and wondering what lay ahead. I hadn’t visited the island (as Henry a “local” from Southampton calls it”) since I was a 10 year old boy, bar an incident involving my friend’s speed boat, Yarmouth harbour police and a lot of alcohol. I hope this visit was more pleasant than the one my 10 year old self endured when my mate and I were called “arseholes” by a bunch of girls passing our hotel and David (every school had one – you know the type) chucked up, splashing sick on my trousers.

After a short time, we docked at Yarmouth and waited eagerly as the landing ramp lowered to reveal a wall of rain. On with my gillet and out onto the road as within minutes I was as wet as I have ever been.

I’d like to say the views were magnificent but I had the option of either wearing my cycling glasses and wiping them every 30 seconds to reveal a partial strip of tarmac or removing them and squinting ahead, holding back the tears as the rain savagely stung my eyes. The climb up to the needles was welcome to get some warmth into my body and we were amongst the first people there, which made life a bit tricky on the descent as we dodged those ascending behind us. With the constant rolling roads, it was hard to settle into a rhythm, made more difficult by my eccentric chain, which decided to jump out and scream for attention whenever I shifted up to the big ring. It was like having a Shimano version of Graham Norton spinning between my legs.

There comes a point on a wet ride that I like to call “total saturation” where you reach a point where you can’t get any wetter, usually followed by a shake of the head and a laugh. I thought I’d reached this point several times.

We arrived at the control café and warmed up over a cup of coffee. Henry had thought Mike and I had signed up for the full 200km ride but we’d only signed up to the 150km Century ride. After we mocked him and he told us to toughen up, talk turned to how much more rain we’d endure before we packed.

Henry was determined to finish but Mike and I had decided that we were at about an 80% chance of packing after 100km back at Lymington and conveniently close to the warm, dry car, containing warm, dry clothes.

We set off again into the rain, evidently at the right time, preceding the power cut that was yet to blight the café when water leaked through the roof. Henry was in good form and so after a few more miles we sent him on his way as it looked more and more likely that we were going to quit. Even though we had GPS tracks to show the way, rain and steamy glasses was making navigation difficult and it was hard to enjoy the ride because of the concentration of just staying upright. Grit washed onto the quieter lanes got the better of my rear tyre as it hissed air at me. We stopped and changed the tube, aided little by my new Lezyne pump which exploded into pieces in my hand. The new tube was defective which led to more delays and a further replacement as a kind stranger came out of their house to offer a track pump.

On our way again, Mike’s Garmin decided to fill with water and stop working which made for an expensive day for him. My chain was still being silly and so shortly before the chain ferry we decided that 80% was 100% and there are some times when you just have to admit you’re not enjoying it.

With the weight of finishing lifted from our shoulders, the sun emerged as we arrived back into Yarmouth and we made the ferry crossing to return home, 100km under our soggy belts.

A wet me, happy to be quitting at Yarmouth

We called John to say thanks for organising the event and to make sure he knew we would be DNF. I will be back to complete the full route on a sunnier day and to sample the refreshments at the finish HQ. In my opinion, Audaxes offer a cheaper, nicer alternative to the overpriced sportive market and I look forward to sampling more in the future.

I think I’ve had my fair share of bad luck on this ride and hope that at future events, Lady Luck will give me a wink……

Tour Time Baby

Have had a bit of a spending spree this week (more exciting news to follow at a later date) and have picked up a rack and panniers for the Sirrus in the hope of planning some light touring and cycle camping. I'll post some pictures when I fit the bits to the bike but I have a few more bits to get before i'll consider it ready for it's first trip.

Watch this space...

“Un café, s’il vous plait avec un jus de pomme de terre”

There are very few places that I’ve been to where I can honestly say that I would be happy to live there. After spending nearly three weeks in Annecy, in the foothills of the French Alps, I’ve found a place that I can put to the top of the pile. As a cyclist, if you imagine your dream location….. It would need mountains wouldn’t it? Preferably the Alps as they are the greatest stage in the theatre of cycling. You’d obviously need a lake too so you can enjoy the vista and cool off with a swim after those long rides.

Not every day would be a mountain day though. You would want some flat roads so you could recover those weary legs and perhaps head out on leisure rides with the partner and family. How does a 40km off road, smooth paved cycle track sound to you? Good? What if that track was closed solely to cyclists and rollerskaters, dogs were banned from it and pedestrians and runners were forced to the gravel edges? You’d think I was making it up wouldn’t you?

If you want all of the above, Annecy is the place for you.

We’ve just returned from a three week family holiday in France and decided on Annecy for the simple fact that it looked like a promising destination where I could ride my bike and the rest of the family could have fun. It way exceeded my expectations.

My only regret was not taking my road bike. With limited space on/in the car due to the fact we were camping and taking bikes for the whole family, I was allocated one space on the rack for a bike and I didn’t want to put a child seat on the road bike and so I’d recently bought a tag-along bike from a clubmate (thanks Nick!) but my son is just too young to use it for longer rides for a few months yet. I decided that my best option would be to take the child seat and use the opportunity to get a new bike – a Specialised Sirrus Sport hybrid.

My thinking behind this was that I could use the bike for family duties where necessary and it would withstand the abuse of having a childseat bolted to it and I would also not be afraid to leave it locked up in towns when we went sightseeing. On the flip side, it should also be fast enough and pleasant enough to ride that I could go off on my own and conquer some cols…..

Ah, the cols…….. I like to think that after a few years in the saddle and several thousand miles of riding, I’m a pretty competent cyclist. Not amazing but good enough to hold my own and consider myself a proper cyclist. Riding a mountain humbled me. In fact, it nearly made me want to throw in the towel. I now have the utmost respect for every professional cyclist.

I think the problem was my first choice in which one to launch my vicious power on. I’d opted for the Col de La Forclaz from the Montmin side which I’d read was a bit of a challenge. Regardless of how much you cycle in the UK, I don’t thing anything can prepare you for what it is truly like to cycle uphill for nearly an hour. I was in bits by the time I reached the top but happy that I had got there. After several beers that evening, the mental anguish disappeared and I rode 4 other cols over the space of the holiday, loving it so much that I did one twice…..

The best part about riding on the continent is the coffee shop culture where religion dictates that every ride must include an espresso stop. My GCSE French is on the hazier side of perfect but even I managed to get what I wanted, thankfully except for the time I ordered potato juice……..