The Lure of the Malverns

I am a simple man. I profess to understanding and liking technology, gadgets and gizmos; but when it comes down to it I am better suited to simple things. As the great bard of Levenshulme put it so succinctly;

'I am a man of means, of slender means. Each household appliance, is like a new science in my town'. (Lyrics by Morrissey...from Nowhere Fast, The Smiths)

Yes, this week I have been confounded by a camera whose LCD screen went blank, an external hard drive that broke on me, a mobile phone that has the most useless software in the world (not naming names, but the company responsible has 25% of all exports from Finland...begins with 'N'...ends in 'Okia'), CD's that refuse to be ripped to the computer and a Sky Box that refuses to show anything other than Fireman Sam and Ben and Holly's Little Kingdom (though I suspect that is something to do with Louisa and not the fault of Sky).

Spleen vented, frustrations dissipated, products returned to Comet (nearly on first name terms with the staff the times I've been back to them and greeted them with the immortal words..'Hello, I bought this a few weeks ago and...'). It has now dawned on me that far be it for me to become Mr iTony of iStreet, owner of lots of iThings, it is best I return to the days of my youth when technology was a Casio calculator that could do Sine, Cosine and Tangent and the cassette Walkman was de rigeur....the gentle his of the tapes leaking from the ear pieces and the clunk, clunk, smack of taking the tape out and turning it over before pressing play once more. Happy days.

So, what is simple?

Riding a bicycle. Yes, the technology employed in bike design, aerodynamics, materials, weight reduction, body positioning, heart rate monitoring, diet and nutrition etc etc is impressive. Want a top of the range Team Sky Pinarello Road racing Bike (see picture...I wish it were my bike, but it isn't) as ridden by Bradley Wiggins in the Tour de France this year?.....That'll be £12,000 please. Here's your free water bottle Sir.

But the principle of riding a bike remains unchanged. Sit on it, push with one pedal, then the next to create a momentum, so that you move forward and do not therefore fall off. Simple. That's what I like. Simple things. Turn the pedals and see where you end up. Me, I've ended up in Liverpool, London and Cardiff - all by the simple action of turning the pedals. Hills, wind, rain, age, fatigue, potholes, cars, dogs and other annoyances all do their best to slow you down, but the steady rotation of the pedals will eventually lead you to somewhere new, different, exciting and interesting.

New Challenges

In preparation for my 410 mile / 650 km cycle charity ride to Dublin and back in June next year, I will be taking on the Malvern Hills Biathlon Challenge in November. It sounds grand, a huge organised events drawing the professionals and amateurs from all over the world. However, it is just me, with my ever faithful passepartout, Simon, to help me.

The challenge is to complete a timed course which starts at Worcester Cathedral. I cycle 17 miles to the southernmost point of the Malvern Hills, hike the length of the Malverns (8 miles, but very steep in places and lots of climbs), before picking up my bike at the north end (couriered by Simon) and finishing after another 8 mile cycle ride at the Cathedral.

Cycling through glorious Worcestershire country villages and stunning scenery; hiking the length of an area of outstanding natural beauty with unspoilt views across to Wales, the Bristol Channel, the Cotswolds and Birmingham (well, a little bit spoilt) and home in time for the elixir of tea and a nice bath. Simple.

The challenge will be timed and people are sponsoring me £1 a guess to decide how quickly (or slowly) I will complete the challenge. The closest to the actual time will receive a prize (they have to go to the top of Worcestershire Beacon, the highest point of the Malverns to collect it though). Currently, I have a lot of people weighing up various factors and trying to calculate the time. Distance to cycle, walking distance, age, size of thigh and calves, knee operation last year, but climbed Kilimanjaro with torn knee cartilage etc etc. Never have my legs been so much in the spotlight.

All proceeds will go towards the fundraising total for SCOPE and the excellent work they do to support people with cerebral palsy, including my daughter Milla.

So, there, in a nutshell, is the antidote to our hi-tech modern world where everything has to be USB connected, wi-fi ready and Bluetooth enabled.

I don't need iThis and iThat, I don't need to be permanently plugged in and broadband fast. All I need is a bike, fresh air, country roads, the occasional hill, a good and rewarding hike and a nice cup of tea. All of that I could have done quite happily 100 years ago.

To quote everyone's favourite Meerkat...'Simples'. (squeak).

Tony.

Creoso Y Gymru.....Welcome to Wales

What better way to spend a Friday, than to get on your bike, and take to the roads and head off for a weekend with your best friend by bicycle.




Sounds great....however when you consider the following, it becomes less appetising;

Worcester to Cardiff


1. 5 hours broken sleep due to an unwell daughter


2. Underestimating the distance to be covered - 92 miles in total, not 75...duh!


3. An accompanying groinal saddle sore (and it definitely was)


4. The hardest and longest climbs I have yet cycled up


5. A nagging crosswind


6. A 10kg backpack


7. 42 year old legs


8. The prospect of riding the same way back


Le Grand Depart

I left Worcester full of optimism for a fast and smooth ride to Wales and within the first 10 miles I was brought back to reality with an imposing 10% gradient climb on the A4103 Worcester to Hereford road. Noone had told me that on some maps, Storridge is awarded its own personal > denoting lung bursting, leg breaking steepness.

....and so it continued, mile after mile of short, steep climbs, a breakneck descent over Fromes Hill and I arrived in Hereford, hungry, already knackered and questioning my sanity. I could have been safely tucked up at home with a hot cuppa and Holly Willoughby for company (very interesting cookery slots on This Morning).


Ou est Abergavenny?

Halfway between Hereford and Abergavenny I found an Oasis of Fried Loveliness, Reggies Roadside Cafe. Reggie was a friendly and chatty chap who rustled up a delicious hot double egg and cheese roll and a fine cup of rosie lee. We whiled away a good half hour until I shifted my backside off the chair and picked up my bike with Reggies portents loud in my ear;

'When you leave Abergavenny there is a bloody great big hill all the way up to Ebbw Vale...even the lorries have trouble going up it....oh, and the Head of the Valleys road is bloody dangerous too....have a good ride'.

By this time I had sat still off the bike for long enough to have forgotten that my saddle sore (let's call it Boris, after the Mayor of London who can be a bit of an annoying pain in the arse at times and never seems to go away) was still present and painful.

Sitting back on the saddle my pain sensors reawakened with a shriek of agony. Still, only about 55 miles to go.

And so I arrived on the dual carriageway outside of Abergavenny, pointing my bike in the direction of 'Up' and began my effortless and immensely enjoyable 8 mile climb up the Head of The Valleys Road, to triumphantly crest the summit at Ebbw Vale and then glide majestically all the way down the Rhymney Valley to Cardiff.

En Haut Montagne

The truth is that the climb was as long and painful as any I've ever done. The road climbed ever upwards, seemingly without end. I refuelled on isotonic energy drinks, veggie jelly beans and Mars Bars and took advantage of the many and unvaried bus shelters up the climb, each with their own unique graffiti and smell of wee.

Mercifully, I was able to ride up the whole way without getting off to push and felt a sense of relief when the road began to flatten out and offer the faintest glimmer of a down hill slope. I had by now given up saying 'ooh' and 'ahh' every 5 seconds...not at the magnificent Welsh scenery around me, but at every rub of my groin against the saddle. Pain from Nuts Central was being overtaken by Tiredness Express. I feared I was about to bonk.


Que Est Bonk?

to bonk (verb): to run out of energy due to a calorie deficit, especially during intense physical activity.


I've not bonked before, but I was close this time. The sight of Mars Bar number three, a stack of dextrose tablets and a final jelly bean gave me the energy boost I was looking for and after the umpteenth extended arm self portrait photo, I headed for the coast of South Wales down the Rhymney Valley.

It was a lovely fast descent off the Heads of The Valleys Road and I thought of the agony I'd have to endure on the return leg....at which point I decided that I would let the train take the strain...I couldn't face the return leg with the exhaustion and pain I was feeling.

My best mate Simon Whitton had been tickling fish and counting grains of sediment in Monmouth for the afternoon and he kindly agreed to divert his route home to catch up with me and lighten the load I had been carrying all the way from Worcester. Why wait till I'm nearly there? So inconsiderate.

We eventually met up in Bargoed, a one horse town with a shiny new railway line, restored on the lines previously closed by the infamous Dr Beeching in the '60s. I had almost come to grief when a local dimwit thought that standing in the middle of a road playing 'chicken' as I approached would be 'a bit of a laff'. The fact it was a 20% descent and I was touching 40mph didn't deter him. I think my shouted 'Don't be a tw*t all your life' was delivered with the slight lilting sing song of the South Welsh accent. I pick up accents fast me... tidy, innit boyo?


Le Montagne au Fromage

Pack lightened, contents deposited in Simon's car, I negotiated a particularly unnerving stretch of the A469 dual carriageway outside of Caerphilly...the last town before Cardiff. We actually drove along it the next day and to my surprise there was a sign with a red circle and a bicycle in it....erm, doesn't that mean no cycling along here? Oops.

Caerphilly now came into view, with it's castle - the second largest in Britain (after Windsor Castle) and famed for its cheese. I wasn't thinking about castles or cheese, there was only one thing on my mind....the climb up Caerphilly Mountain, the last and steepest object on the route before Cardiff.

It is not very long, but it is steep. The climb starts innocuously just as you leave the town, attractive detached houses giving way to forested slopes.....then in the words of Mr T...
'You pathetic, get some nuts.....or you gonna meet my friend PAIN'.

Steep, climb, push, pedal. pant, sweat, strain, heave, huff, puff and.....stop, climb off, catch breath, remount, lowest gear, start again, few more metres and...stop, climb off, curse under breath, curse out loud, sweat, condsider sitting down, remount, get off and.....cross the road and push the damn bike up the remaining half of the climb.

I made it half way up before my legs, brain and every other muscle told me to walk. Not a good feeling, but accepting you limitations is something you have to learn to do - especially as you get older. I'm 42, not 22, I kept thinking.

Not that it made me feel any better when, as I wheeled the bike round the final bend, I saw a guy 'dancing on the pedals' - cyc;ing and climbing fluidly up the road. He was on a nice, light racing bike, and carrying a small daypack. I will go back for another day to have a crack at going over it...but then again, I have nothing to prove, so I might just leave that and go on to other climbs.

Arrivee en Cardiff

I am here at last, I am here. Lots of stops, lots of climbing, a body drained of energy and testicles on fire and I arrived in the hallowed district of Splott 9.5 hours after starting. I beat the sunset too (Simon had my lights in his car) and was in good time for a deserved bath, a couple of cuppas and then off for a reviving curry at the Welsh Curry House of the Year 2010 - The Mirchi.

So, in summary, what would I say about this 'day trip fun ride'?

• it was TOUGH
• it was LONG
• it was HARD
• it was STEEP
• it was EXHAUSTING
• it was SWEATY
• it was ENJOYABLE (sort of)
• it was WORTH IT...for that cup of tea and a cracking curry and a great weekend with my brilliant ffrind gorau, Simon Kendall Mint Cake Whitton.

This one was for fun, but the real serious stuff is happening in June 2011. A 410 mile ride to Dublin and back....lots more climbs, lots more aches and pains, but hopefully lots more money for Scope and lots more help for people living with cerebral palsy.

Tony.

Heavy breathing, heaving chest, dripping wet, feeling really hot and sweaty, legs pumping...you get the picture..

Hello my friends,

It's about time I kicked off my new regular blog posts.

For those of you who clicked the link based on the title above, far be it from me to titilate you into reading this with the lurid imagery I depicted, but I am afraid this is not a Jackie Collins 'bonk buster' novel, but my trials, tribulations and triumphs as a cyclist.

I am now in training mode for my next major cycling adventure. 400 hilly, nae mountainous miles in a lovely sweeping circle from Worcester to Dublin and back. Target date is sometime mid June next year (2011). Why June? Longer days, warm sunshine, beautiful countryside all around, lush green fields and fresh mountain air. With my luck it'll pour down for the week I am away and the most I'll see is the tailgate of an huge juggernaut as it thunders past and soaks me to the skin.....hang on. PMA please. Positive Mental Attitude. As long as your cycling doesn't clash with Wimbledon you'll be ok (always rains during Wimbledon)...sorry, what? Wimbledon is at the same time. Damn.

Training

So, fresh from the month of Ramadhan, leaner by half a stone, raring to go I am viewing the first big training weekend. My good friend and erstwhile bedfellow, Simon Whitton, lives in Cardiff.

Clarification: by 'bedfellow' I mean we have had to, on occasion, share a bed whilst holed up in some hovel in the wilds of Pakistan or China when travelling. It was that or one of would have slept on the floor with the cockroaches for company. We kept a safe distance and a pillow between us and never topped and tailed.

For legal reasons, the above defence of our heterosexuality is called the 'The William Hague' defence.

Where was I...yes, Cardiff. Simon lives in the gloriously named district of SPLOTT, near the sea in Cardiff. By car we're talking an hour and a half to get to Cardiff from Worcester. But for my first training weekend I will be going by bike, via Hereford, Abergavenny, Caerphilly and Splott. Leaving on a Friday, coming back on the Monday. 75 miles each way.

The problem is not the distance, but the terrain. The Brecon Beacons lie between me and Simon and a good feed at the Merchi Indian Curry House. They may not be the Pyrenees or the Alps, but they are a stiff test for my 42 year old legs. I noted a few >> (very steep) chevrons on the map. Mercifully, most are down hill for me going to Cardiff. I'm sure Mondays return trip will be a real test of my climbing ability....or possibly ability to push a bike up a steep hill.

Whatever the terrain, the intention is to cover a good distance on the bike; have a cracking weekend in Simon's esteemed company (separate beds and indeed rooms - there's a relief; and no cockroaches too - bonus), fill our faces with succulent curry, nan and rice and build up some more bike stamina and fitness.

I'll take my camera and try to take a few interesting shots, probably me bent double over the bike, gasping for air and creating my very own street pizza with that morning's breakfast. Nice image.

Right must be getting on.

Thanks for reading and I'll be in touch soon when the creative juices start flowing again.

Mr Flaps / Tony Frobisher