Six Days

This is it, six days to go. Six days before I climb 1,400 ft (edited as I CnP'd wrongly, thanks W00hoo!) over 100 miles before collapsing in a heap in the Mall!

That’s if I finish.

Long view on the weather is either cloud or sun but to be honest I could be a meteorologist sometimes as I predict that there will be a possibility of sun, wind and rain but a lesser chance of snow as this is Southern England at the beginning of August.

I will be staying in Wapping before heading out at around sunrise to head north to the Olympic park, where helpfully I am on the other side of the start positions to the north east of the park in the green zone.

At 07.54am, I will join 25,000 other lunatics riders, I will head thorough the City into Westminster, Kensington, Richmond Park, Kingston, Hampton Court past my dad having his breakfast at Martin’s café, Walton, Weybridge, West Byfleet then Pyrford.

After Ripley, comes Horsley, Clandon then the first real climb with Newlands and the first real descent the other side. Turn at Sutton Abigner and a gentle climb into the lovely Holmbury St Mary before dropping again then a sharp ramp to Leith Hill.

Here I will cough out my other lung - which will hunt down its sinister twin left there on previous training rides - before the fast descent back to the A25 after a surprisingly annoying ramp. Right towards Westcott hitting 40-odd mph before Dorking then Box Hill. Slip into something comfortable and spin the way up the zig zags before descending again through Headley hoping not to crash on the fast left/right turn. Up into Leatherhead, struggle past the Bear, through Oxshott and bomb down to the A3. Through Esher, wave at dad if he’s at the Scilly Isles, resist temptation to turn into my road go indoors and have a lie down, Kingston, up the nasty Coombe Lane (not as nasty as its namesake but deceptively naughty when you’ve hit 85 miles or so in a ride) and the newly surfaced Worple Road.

Hope a mate has bought a beer out from the Alex, wish they hadn’t as I struggle up Wimbledon Hill, regain composure though the Common then downhill through Putney, Kings Road, Embankment, to be met by my wife and daughter somewhere past the secure zone in the Mall.

Since the turn of the year, I have (lost Strava details and short trips notwithstanding) ridden 3,500 miles, spent 244 hours and 21 minutes in the saddle and climbed 66,056 feet over 232 rides. 

I have had one service, one new chain, one cassette change and two new wheels thanks to the stars at Specialized Kingston who have had to put up with an impatient, often-confused man through these months.

I have bought shorts, lycra tops, gloves, panniers, CO2 pumps, cleaners, helmets, oil, grease, tools, socks, buffs, pumps and bottles.

I have lost around two stone in weight, I have something I believe are called muscles forming on the former continental fat shelf that was my belly.

I am no Captain Marvel by any means, but in six days’ time, I will be donning the orange, white and black of the MS Society and ride out to do something that eight months ago, I would have scoffed at if you said I would be doing Ride London.  

Please hit the button below and sponsor me or tell your friends to do so and feel free to follow my progress on the Ride London site this Sunday.

My name is Simon Miller, my rider number is 36927, I am riding because a friend suffers from MS. I am riding because MS sufferer John Hicklenton decided to make a choice in Switzerland.

I am riding because others cannot.

Digital pedalling

Since I started cycling again I noticed that there has been an increase in strange beings patrolling the streets like some cycling cybermen.

Electronic gadgets ooze out of every available attachment, cameras, Garmins, go-pros, mobiles, more cameras. They stride through the streets connected to the tech world in a way that certainly never did when I was a kid – then again my racer had levers on the side of the frame which you moved until the gear changed.

Computers tell you how fast you are going, how your heartbeat is, even how much power you put into pedaling. Meanwhile, the eye in the sky (or helmet/bike) casts its all-seeing view over the world.

Some use cameras to record their rides, others to protect themselves in case of an accident.

The other day, I actually saw someone riding along in a hi-viz tunic, his helmet spouting a go-pro like some latter-day pharaoh’s Khepresh, an air of extreme self-importance - the icing on the cake was that he was on a Brompton.

Now I know Brommies are now fuming but it was the complete picture of all the get up with a foldable bike that made me laugh.

In this mass-surveillance world, there is considerable debate about whether these cybermen are actually causing confrontation.

When you look at some of the You Tube videos, it is hard to disagree sometimes but that is down to the cyclist concerned rather than the camera itself. For every self-righteous rider who would yell at a butterfly fluttering past, there is another rigged-up rider who will glide serenely through their route.

However, I do feel there has been a rise in confrontation and anger on the road with all users. It could be down to societal changes or training or just idiocy manifesting itself but cycling cameras are only a small part of it.

For some lucky cyclists, their route in is one of approaching nirvana, where drivers, cyclists, pedestrians and bikers interact in a state of bliss.

Unfortunately, there are also routes that resemble Mad Max where mutant scavengers fight it out for a piece of tarmac, where one man on a bike is up against the insanity of Nux, where…

Actually, roads in this country are relatively safe, even in London and the burbs but even taking this onboard, on a lot of routes taking the offensive is actually the safest form of cycling.

My wife and daughter have only seen me riding on the road in rush hour once when they were on a bus I overtook and were amazed at the speed and decisiveness (think I was shocked too!)  I used to pass what I considered could be a hazard and certainly would delay me due to its route – plenty of stops ahead on narrow roads.

For many commuter cyclist, using speed is normal and a lot of us feel that our speed and behaviour protects us as we are acting as traffic not something to hide in the gutter.

And sometimes we do blow our top. My range goes from casual shake of head, to pointing at sign/traffic lights to a full-blown anyone in earshot with kids or are sensitive I apologies- type language.

But it is down to the event. I am angry because you nearly ran me over, carried on going at me when you should give way or you pulled out on me and I was about to do a 3.2 dismount over your bonnet. You are in a lump of metal, I am just a lump.

Saying that, in number terms, the incidences where I would release the invective are minuscule and the majority of drivers give me space, are attentive, look both ways, don’t overtake at pinchpoints, don’t ignore give way signs, give you space etc – but that doesn’t create hits, doesn’t create news.

In regards other technology - yes Strava louts can be idiots, bombing through without care for traffic nor pedestrian alike in their bid to get a King of the Mountain (KoM) or personal best (PB). It also looks like quite a soulless pastime. I have been cycling home and seen someone bomb down a ‘segment’ – runs that times are set against - stop, look at his time then head back to try again. Like a gym, I just cannot see the appeal of that. It is like learning to pass your driving test rather than learning to drive – at the end of the day, neither as satisfying nor complete.

But for me and many others, the program has been very useful in letting me know where I falter, how my speed inevitably drops on hills and the spikes and troughs of my cycle – if I get a PB then it is a sign that the training is working and is a by-product of a run. Indeed, I am still amused that I am KoM of two runs because a) I only knew they existed after I’d done them and was at home; and b)couldn’t work out why someone would segment those areas.  

In fact it was these troughs on the Strava that prompted me to get a cheap bike computer so I could see my speed when cycling. I thought if I could smooth those out, my time would be quicker on Ride London thanks to better efficiency.

With less than two weeks to go, the combination of computer and Strava has allowed me to be pretty confident that I will be able to get round the Ride London course within 9 and a half hours - finishing...another story but time-wise... When I started this madness, I never thought I’d ever hit the 12.5 mph necessary – now that is fairly easy.

I am not (to mix programmes) ready to quite join the full collective, I’ll take my commute without a camera, and my phone is happy in the back pocket.

But if, when you are out, you pass someone extremely teched up, and you feel jealous or wish to have the same kit, just think about the extra weight they are carrying ;)

Going the distance

When I was a small cub, your bicycle was your passport to freedom. No longer did you have to rely on your parents to get to the library or to go to the nearest shopping area, you were free.

You’d jump on your bike and you were off. It is a cliché because it was true but in those days, you’d head off at sunrise and return at dusk.

These were the days of ET and BMX, of jumping on the bike and thinking nothing about heading into London on the A3, yep the A3 that blistering, thin fast road where nothing as really changed except the speed limit and cameras. We would happily head along it on the way to London and the comic shops and marts.

I even decided to cycle to Brighton to see if I could do it, not realising that you don’t go via Guilford, adding an extra 15 miles to my ride.

Distance, and time, was nothing to us.

But something happens. In those years from invincibility to mortality, distances start to appear longer. How long? You’ve got to be kidding?

Of course the lack of bike fitness at the start doesn’t help – where cycling five miles appeared to be a very quick way to the cardio unit – but even so, as you start and progress, distance still seem immense.

When I decided to start increasing my distances, I scoured the maps like Livingstone looking for the start of the Nile. The big journey into the great unknown.

I started going on every increasing circles wither to Richmond and back or through Molesey and round to Hersham.

The circles got bigger, I included pathways such as going through the Hinchley Woods and back round via Oxshott, across fields into Cobham. The distances each week getting larger.

And then the day I crossed over the M25.

I’d gone through Cobham and past the Plough  - an old haunt of my late teenage years – then there was a bridge on the rise. I had crossed the border, I was out of London and its burbs.

I had an immense sense of achievement and that continued when I turned round further east and headed back down Downside and came back in towards London.

If I didn’t fancy the country lanes, I could head towards Heathrow and the sprawling mass of North West London, or simply head into London itself.

As part of my training for Ride London, I have been taking segments of the course, 20, 30 miles, pushing up my range and seeing what my limits are.

Some people may now think that for me 100 miles should be a synch. I really wish it would be. I really wish that all that mileage, those hills, ascents and descents alike, the timing constraints – you must ride an average 12mph – but to be honest I don’t know.

Eventually I will attempt the route before the actual day, find out what speeds I can do over the distance, what foods I will need, what are my weaknesses (Hills!!!!) and strengths, what will hurt and where.

I may collapse in a puddle of effort and sweat.

Hell, I may do that on the day itself.

But whatever happens, I will pick myself up, walk up those hills if necessary, and finish the course.

Because a year ago, I was a bear on a clapped-out second-hand bike, scared of my lack of fitness and the lack of miles. I was a bear without a road-map and had no idea that riding for MSSociety in August was going to be the next destination.

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weather with you

So the one thing that gets constantly asked if me is this: you cycled in that? 

For most non-cycling commuters, the idea that you would willingly submit yourself to the rage of the weather that makes up these isles mystifies them. There they are in their nice warm cars, trains and buses shaking their heads as some lone cyclist passes them...

Spring

Spring is wet. Very wet. It is worse than the wet of autumn and winter as it is wet interspersed with the promise of warmer weather ahead. Every sunny warm day when the lesser spotteds* come out is punctured by those artic winds and rain still shouting that they aren't finished with you yet.

You try and get your clothing right but you are either too warm or too wet, forgetting that important  rule that you are water proof! In those rainy times I have to remind myself that if I was training it in I would be sitting at my desk with wet clothes rather than the nice dry ones I wear when I get showered and changed at work. 

Thanks to cycling clothes, I am drier than most people coming in during the spring rains.

*lesser-spotteds: people who appear once the winds and rain look likely to disappear. Those empty lanes and roads you were used to are suddenly filled with a mixture of lack of fitness and too much fitness (thanks to their indoors trainers). They will scurry back into their burrows very quickly in April and May as the weather reminds them that it hasn't finished with the crap yet. 

Summer

Summer is the pita. You dress appropriately for the weather just for that artic punch to have one dying swipe at you. At least you don't have to worry about being cold. Seriously, wet is nothing, cold is all. 

So on those rare days when the sun is shining and the roads are cracking, you are peddling along only to be interrupted by the lesser spotteds and the rest of the fair weathers. Don't get me wrong, it's great to see so many people on their bike but those with their fear of melting carbon,

give of a whiff of arrogance that makes me want to scream: "You weren't there man. You weren't there when the winds hit, when the rains almost drowned us...you weren't there!" 

Autumn 

Speaking of winds, the first time I seriously encountered these was in autumn. Winds are rightfully called hills without benefits. You get plastered head on, speed dropping as fast as your gears as you try and keep some sort of speed up..and there is no downhill to compensate. 

Even worse, if you cycle in an urban arena, quite often you can be cycling along, quite comfortably, thinking "oh good, not getting any headwind" then a gap in a building sends you flying left or right as the boreas keeps its promise to remind you that all you are is a person on a flimsy machine. To drivers reading, this is why we get particularly angry at windy times, we could just get blown into you thanks to your closeness, and...there..is...nothing...we...could...do to prevent it. 

But, I hear you say, if the wind is at you on the way in, surely you get a tailwind on the way out?

I wish. 

The gods will not like that! No, the gods will shift the wind around so that you get a repeat performance - especially if, like me, you commute on an east-west axis. 

But

But

those days when the gods look favourably and push on your back...

Winter

Winter. When the dark comes to swallow you up. The crispness of the clear night, the silence of the cave.

Apologies to Bill Watterson

Now, it could be that I was a December baby but I love winter. Some fear the ice - for obvious reasons, a fall on that is not pleasant. But I love the fact that you go out in winter leggings, layers and coat, a buff on your head, a buff round your neck ready to warm the face, big gloves on as you head out. Absolutely love that. This winter, there was 24 hours of snow and I headed out in fresh powder, no cars, the darkness and dust baffling any sound as I crunched my way down a main road on my way to work - colleagues thought I was mad but, to me, it was lovely. 

Of course, you get the usual rubbish that wrecks your mechanics , the constant cleaning to keep the bike going. the sheer crap that deposits on the road leaving you in the dark and cold having to repair a puncture, the appalling driving that seems to occur whenever conditions are terrible, the aforementioned ice.

Yet, when that caveman instinct takes over when you are out there in the gloom of the evening, when that instinct tells you to push it, there are predators abound, when that air hits the back of your throat and the traffic clears and you are you, alone...

A Leith Hill Ride

For my second hill training, I bravely said to myself “Now it’s time for Leith Hill.”

Of all the hills on Ride London, this is the one, this is the most notorious, the one that will skin a bear alive…or so I have been told.

A Leith Hill aside: When we were cubs, my dad used to take us to Leith Hill with the dog. We would park up and then there would be a climb, literally a climb up the side of the hill until you got to the top with the Tower making it the highest point in the South.

So I knew it was tall but, unlike Box Hill, I had never, ever, cycled up the top of it so had no idea whether it was as ‘lethal’ as it was made out to be.

To warm up, I cycled to Ockham from Cobham, an incline that in previous times would see me stopping to catch a breath but was now a fairly gentle double mph ride over to the Muddy Duck then downhill past the pro-greenbelt posters to Ockham then West Horsley.

The beauty of where I now lived was that it didn’t take too long to hit country lanes. Of course, they bring a significantly higher risk than the urban environment – with speeding cars, far more blind corners and less exit chances -  but to see the fields, various kites etc flying overhead and the looming presence of them there hills pleased the soul.

So I popped up at the Epsom road and I could either turn right towards Newlands Corner or go straight over the roundabout towards Shere.

Consulting my phone it looked like I could cut across to where I wanted to go – excellent.

Or not.

You see, what I didn’t know is that that route was a masochist’s favourite. One of those routes that those weird people who love cycling up hills, purposely seek out. Seriously, take a look at them. That stare as they contemplate another ascent, where words like Cols are not swear words, where the descent is not as sort after as the reverses.

As the angle of ascent got steeper and steeper, I seriously thought of turning around and heading over Newlands – For those in the know, I had yet to experience the joys of Newlands Corner yet! – but heart pumping, sweat a sweating, time suspended, legs like lead, I kept going,

As I watched flowers grow, bloom then fade and die – such was the speed I was managing on the ramps – I really thought how the hell was I meant to cycle up Leith Hill. I was an idiot to even consider doing this feat - a grade-A pillock.

Then the hill leveled out and then descended. Oh sh….

Ducking down on the drops, I felt air pressure shoving my face backwoods, wind tearing at my tear ducts, as gravity increasingly pulled me to my doom.

I had thought it was fairly fast on the descent to Leatherhead at Box Hill but this seemed a completely different matter. Realties bent and wiggled in and out of few, each small dent in the road yawned like gaping chasms,, the road bending and stretching ahead and around me as the descent continued.

Until, the speed slackened, the wind died down, reality snapping back into shape as the bike hit the level. I had survived.

Following the death descent, I cycled over to Holmesbury St Mary’s, imbued with a renewed sense of vigour and hope. Nothing could be as bad as that climb. After twice checking to see which was my turn-off, I was hit by a massively sharp ramp that quickly dragged me down to the granny gear. But it was short and soon I turned right onto the main ascent.

I was surprised. Very surprised. This seemed even easier than Box Hill. A steady 10mph up to the top and that was that.

Into the warp speed again, internally screaming forgiveness for my pass sins, hoping that my family would be cared for as the background shifted red, I popped out on the Horsham Road…

Again…

I had only gone up the wrong bleeding side of Leith Hill.

So making sure of my route was added to the many things needed for my Ride London armoury, I cajoled my weary legs up over Coldharbour, Dorking, then Box Hill and headed home.

Promising myself that the following weekend I would do that damned hill properly.

Training weekend: 2 rides

3,097 calories

Av speed 15.3 mph

Top Speed: 39.6 mph

Total elevation: 3,763 feet

Total time in saddle: 6 hours 40 Minutes