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The Man of Kent 300

May 23, 2016

Start, kilometre 0 – Tonbridge, Saturday 20:30
Proof of passage: Sainsbury till receipt, 2 litre bottle of Evian

Preparations for this overnight perm haven’t exactly been perfect. Last night George and I went to watch some crit racing in Hove Park and necked a couple of beers. That would have been fine but we then went to the pub until they kicked us out in the early hours of this morning. We haven’t been feeling particularly special all day (understating the case somewhat). On top of that, we arrived in Tonbridge late due to Southern Rail being an utterly useless rail service provider. It’s taken over two hours, four trains and an 8 km sprint across suburbia from East Croydon to Beckenham Junction to get here – all of 40 miles from home.

Anyway, we’re here now and meet Luke, who has come down from Yorkshire to ride with us (I rode the Spurn Head 400 a couple of years ago with him), in an Italian restaurant in town to eat before we set off. Once we’ve taken on fuel and caffeine we roll down the high street to the Sainsbury’s petrol station, our chosen Tonbridge control, to buy water to fill our bidons. Receipts tucked in brevets and we’re off. Oh, not before we’ve emptied a CO2 canister into George’s rear tyre to get it to seat properly (in true George fashion he changed his tyres this afternoon and only noticed he had a flat spot when we raced across south east London on the way here).

OK, now we’re ready. What could possibly go wrong?

Control #1, kilometre 70 – Sturry, Sunday 00:00
Proof of passage: MacDonalds till receipt – Hot Apple Pie, cup of tea

The last 70 kilometres have been lovely. We went a bit wrong out of Tonbridge and followed the Garmin backwards along our return route for later, but spotted it quick enough and cut across to the correct road at Golden Green. We follow picturesque lanes I remembered from Fairies Flattest Possible 300 from a couple of years ago. Spinning through the dusk and twilight daytime lingered in the sky long into the evening. The lanes have been beautifully quiet. We’ve rolled along at a steady pace chatting away, taking in what we could see of the landscape until darkness finally enveloped us. There’s something comforting and peaceful about riding small empty lanes in the pitch black. There’s nothing out there except for what can be seen in our lightbeams. There’s a sense of being enclosed in a tunnel of vivid green, hedges and trees wrapping around us, protecting us.

Having passed through the middle of Canterbury (where I reminisced about old haunts and gigs whilst I was at art school there in the early 1990s) we’re now sat in an all night MacDonald’s on the A28 out to Sturry, teas and coffees purchased for proof of passage receipts.

Control #2, kilometre 90 – Sandwich, Sunday 01:38
Proof of passage: Cash machine withdrawal receipt

The last 20 kilometres passed without incident, gently rolling lanes under a hazy full moon. George did keep singing the chorus to Chas And Dave’s Margate on the brief stretch along the A28. I slowed up and let him go ahead for a bit.

Control #3, kilometre 145 – Lydd, Sunday 04:37
Proof of passage: Cash machine withdrawal receipt

I’m ready to pack.

The last three hours have been vile. It started to rain as soon as we left Sandwich. Initially it was annoying but bearable. The amount of effort expended was enough to stay dry and warm but the rain got harder and the temperature dropped and it got worse and worse. Tiredness and cold started to seep into every cell of my being. It’s hard enough to ride through the witching hour as it is, but when you are burning energy to keep warm it leaves less to aid concentration and turn the pedals. The concentration is what really tires you though. With bad visibility and handling due to rain the effort to concentrate is almost unbearable. You feel that at any moment something will have to give, and it will probably be emotionally messy. The same thoughts span around and around my head, “Do not want to ride anymore. Must not stop. Cannot ride anymore. Will not stop.”, over and over and over. We were in the middle of nowhere. It was the middle of the night. There was no option but to keep riding. (The south east of England may be hugely populated but it’s very easy to feel completely isolated in these conditions. In all reality we were probably 10 miles from a town with a 24 hour petrol station.) We drifted apart, keeping each other’s lights in view, enough to make sure we were all still there, but we barely talked. If any of us had been alone we probably would’ve given up. It was that ridiculous thing of not wanting to give up and let the others down despite despising every second of it. I almost crashed hallucinating that I was drifting over a broken white line into a filter lane when I suddenly noticed I was about to clip a curb. Jolted back to reality I avoided smashing myself across the road…and the path of Luke behind me. George’s front light shorted out in the rain. He descended in the dark until it flicked back into life.

By the time we drop down onto Romney Marsh both the sky and the rain are lightening. I am cold and wet to my core. I am miserable.

We ride on to Lydd for receipts.

What the fucking hell are we doing?

No one talks of giving up.

Control #4, kilometre 162 – Rye, Sunday 05:37
Proof of passage: Cash machine withdrawal receipt

The landscape of Romney Marsh out towards Dungeness and Rye is weird and alien and beguiling. I’ve been here before many times but never at dawn. At dawn it’s even stranger. The turbines of the wind farm stand silent and still, eerie sentries. We continued to ride separately. I’m unsure we’ve recovered from the past few hours, not yet ready for company.

In Rye it’s too early for any trains so receipts may as well be gathered.

A taxi driver asks us what we’re doing. We explain. “Is it for charity?” We have no answer that makes sense to ourselves, let alone anyone else.

Control #5, kilometre 193 – Crooksfoot (Ashford), Sunday 07:17
Proof of passage: Tesco all night petrol station receipt – 3 quid meal deal; all day breakfast sarnie, Pringles, orange juice

We sit quietly on benches eating breakfast overlooking an empty supermarket car park. The rumble of lorries heading to and from the continent drifts over the trees from the M20 just beyond. My socks are still wet.

The appeal and romance of the audax is hard to explain sometimes.

Control #6, kilometre 222 – Headcorn, Sunday 09:20
Proof of passage: Texaco petrol station receipt – flapjack

The sun has come out. We’re warm and dry. Smiles are being smiled again and we actually laugh about stuff. It’s amazing what riding with your shadow alongside does to your soul. Other riders are out and about now too. Waves, nods, and hellos lift the mood. We even picked up a draft from the Ashford Road CC club run for a few kilometres down the road.

Control #7, kilometre 255 – Tonbridge, Sunday 11:03
Proof of passage: Sainsbury’s petrol station receipt – Fridge Raiders, Pepperami

Back where we started. It’s not lost on me that it would be really easy to give up now. So very easy. However I find it hard to reconcile myself to giving up something once started. Yes I’m tired, yes my legs are starting to feel heavy, but we’re well within the time limit and the sun is shining. My resolve has invisible cracks but it we don’t stop for long it won’t crumble. Both giving up and carrying on are equally pointless so I may as well carry on.

Control #8, kilometre 283 – Lingfield, Sunday 12:53
Proof of passage: Costcutter supermarket receipt – Mini Babybels, chorizo

Almost done. The equivalent of the long commute home.

Finish, kilometre 310 – Tonbridge, Sunday 14:30
Proof of passage: Sainsbury’s petrol station receipt – can of Coke

I sit on the curb outside the petrol station kiosk drinking a can of coke.

It’s done.

I’m done.
The Sussex Spring Classic

May 9, 2016

A couple of years ago I planned a ride for the Sunday of Paris-Roubaix incorporating some inappropriate sections for road bikes on skinny tyres. There are no cobbles or secteurs of pave in Sussex (except maybe a few metres here and there) but there are a lot of bridleways, gravel paths, farm tracks and tiny broken surfaced lanes that can be linked up to make a stupid ride. There are some photos from that ride here

Last Sunday a few of us rode a similar course with loads of new fun bits thrown in. A route was planned but extra silliness was added as we went. Every now and again someone would say “Do you know that bit over there?” or “There’s a path up here, it should be rideable”, so everyone chucked in ideas and we found bits we didn’t all know, and ended up with the perfect route. Smiles beamed as hard as the sun’s rays beat down on us, from the pre-ride coffee to the post ride ales. We were out and about messing around for well over ten hours, yet rode only 120 kilometres. I think we were only riding for half that time. The lunch stop took a while. There was no rush.

A tradition may have begun.
Vuelta de Los Picos // Dia 6 // Oviedo to Asturias Airport

May 7, 2016

The alarms go off at 7am. Today should be a relatively easy day but we’re flying home tonight so to avoid any panic later in the day we’ve decided to get on the road early. There is going to be some faff as we need to ride the wrong way initially, in order to get back to Gijon to pick up the bike bags, and then in order to avoid some main roads we’ll wiggle around the coast.

There’s not much of interest for the first 20 kilometres, big roads and traffic (compared to what we’ve been used to), but there is a nice climb and fast descent into the outskirts of Gijon, and we pass a lot of groups out on club runs.

I pick my bag up from Decathlon and then we ride to the footbridge where George stashed his bag on Monday. Bag retrieved we ride towards the port to pick up the road around the headland and on to the coast back towards Aviles. It starts to rain. It’s the first rain we’ve had all week and we’re not used to it, so dive into a small bar for a coffee and hope it passes

By the time we finish our drinks the clouds have broken and blue sky is visible. We head on along the side of the port but the road is closed. We turn up a steep climb and promptly get lost in a maze of tiny little steep streets.

Eventually we find our way out but we still end up lost. The Garmin is looked at and the map is looked at. We can see where we are supposed to be, a few hundred metres below but 1) can’t work out how to get down there, and 2) it’s a road through an industrial depot of some kind full of lorries. Time for the follow our noses option.

We end up on the road we were trying to avoid and have wasted the best part of an hour. Just as well we got up early. We join the main road towards the coast and then get off it as soon as we can and drop down to the ocean side. Instantly we climb away from the sea to find a small lane towards Aviles. For the first time in 60 odd kilometres we find ourselves on a quiet road. And the sun is shining. It’s bliss.

It doesn’t last too long as we find ourselves in the middle of a semi-derelict industrial complex outside Aviles. The map shows that we can ride through into Aviles but there are some dead ends and then we find ourselves in a lorry park. We chuck the bikes over a fence, then jump over after them.

We’ve now found ourselves in the middle of a strange, empty, white architectural space. I remember seeing this across the river on the way out of town on Monday. It made me think of the architecture of Oscar Niemeyer then, and my thoughts are confirmed when I see his name on a plaque on a wall. It’s a cultural complex and looks dropped in from outer space. It sits oddly between the town and the heavy industry directly behind it.

Out of Aviles we follow the coast towards the airport. We’re down to the last 10 kilometres and it’s only 2pm. Time to find a nice seafood lunch and another bottle of red (and fizzy water). The sun is beating down again and when lunch is finished the Atlantic Ocean looks far too inviting to be ignored. It’s going to be cold but a swim will be a hell of a way to finish off a great trip!

Numbers

Distance: 96 kilometres

Climbing: 1300 metres

Route: https://www.strava.com/activities/561074239
Vuelta de Los Picos // Dia 5 // Riaño to Oviedo

May 6, 2016

We wake up to a very different view out of the window to yesterday. Cloud hides the tips of the mountains all around us, just the lower slopes sliding into the lake are visible, their reflections bouncing back at them from the silver mirror like surface. The world is still and quiet. It’s a shame we leave the mountains today.

We follow the lake edge again, following the opening section of yesterday’s ride, but instead of continuing towards Cangas de Onis we follow the sign for Oviedo, 105 kilometres away. As we trace the edge of the lake the clouds break and the mountains beyond are slowing exposed like a developing photograph (for anyone old enough to remember dark rooms).

We’re aiming for a mountain pass at around 1450 metres from which we should gradually descend towards Oviedo. We’re on the main road but we’ve barely seen a car, just us gently climbing back up into the snow. We stop at the Puerto de Tarna and grab snacks from the framebags. The map is unfolded to look at the next part of the route. We can continue directly back over the border into Asturias on the main road, but the Garmin is telling us to turn left to climb over the 1625m Puerto de Señales. This isn’t exactly direct but we can see on the map that we’ll drop down onto another road to Oviedo. We’ve got all day and we’re not quite ready to leave the mountains so we bear left and carry on climbing.

We seem to drop quite steeply forever from the pass. It’s a lot of fun losing height so quickly…but in the back of my mind I know that at some point we’ve got to get over another 1500+m pass on the border of Castilla Y Leon and Asturias. How far are we going to have to climb? Ah, forget that, this is fun! Gradually the road levels and we swoop into the valley bottom at lunch time. Time for more food to fuel the next 80 kilometres.

Finding a deserted hostel bar we order fried chorizo and a salad of potatoes, eggs, and tuna. Actually, that’s just for me. George orders a chorizo omelette sandwich. Sipping on tea and coffee the food is slowly delivered. First the fried chorizo. It’s an entire large chorizo sausage and a load of bread. Hmm, I may have over ordered. Then George’s sandwich arrives and it’s basically a loaf of bread with a huge omelette stuffed inside. The salad when it arrives isn’t exactly ‘a salad’, more an enormous plate of carbs in mayonnaise. Between us we make our way through the chorizo and salad. The sandwich is stuffed in a musette that George straps across his back for later*.

Time to ride back uphill. And we seem to have a tailwind for the first time! We have no idea how high we already are but we assume we probably have a 600 metre climb over the next 15 kilometres. The road rises, then falls, then rises again. We keep gaining some height just to lose it again. Then the road just rises and keeps rising. The climb has really started. Snow poles appear beside the road again. Then what looks like a ski resort appears on a plateau ahead of us. Bloody hell ski resorts are ugly places, just a swathe of concrete poured over a beautiful mountain top. We realise how unspoilt the Picos have been. Other than the occasional small town and tiny village, and the roads we’ve ridden, we have barely seen any human intervention. Some days we’ve ridden for hours without seeing a car or another person. We stop in a giant car park long enough to layer up ready for the descent.

The map gives no real indication of the road that unfolds before us. The next 35 kilometres are all downhill. Every single centimetre. Not a single little ramp upwards anywhere. It’s stunning. The first 10 kilometres are beautiful. Almost clichéd. Long straights between sweeping curves and tight hairpins. The kilometre markers ping by every 60 or so seconds. The tarmac is smooth and the road empty, we pick and choose our lines with impunity. We are sad to be saying goodbye to the mountains but this is one hell of a parting. We’re so glad that we changed our mind back at the top of the first climb this morning. That road may also have been stunning, we’ll have to come back one day to find out. Once the steep bit runs out the road continues its downward trajectory but at a gentler gradient, there’s time to watch the landscape change from mountains to foothills. Rock and snow give way to grass and trees.

At the base of the valley we hit some big roads. There are junctions and traffic to negotiate. It’s a shock to the system after the quiet of the last few days. We’ve spent most days on one road, with barely a junction to make us think “Which way?”

The map is retrieved from the bag. George realises we are very close to the Alto el Cordal, a climb he has wanted to climb for years (George is his anglicized name, his real name is Jorge Cordal Lorenzo). The first version of our route for this trip included the Angliru and Cordal on the first day, until we figured out that the logistics were easier reversing the route. We probably haven’t got time to get to the Angliru but the Cordal is doable. “A nothing little climb they do in La Vuelta on the way to Angliru” is how it is sold to me. “Okay”, I say. I’ll feel bad if I don’t let him ride it when we’re only 5km away.

He lied. It’s horrible. Even without 500 kilometres in the legs and bags hanging off the bike it would be tough. It’s steep from the word go. George disappears into the distance. I can tell how far ahead he is by the sound of dogs barking all the way up the lower slopes. Once past the villages it ramps up again, into switchbacks. I get to the top and have a bit of a swear at George.

However, to be fair to him the 15 kilometre descent off it is bloody great, and when we hit the final 15km to Oviedo we realise the detour has saved us from some horrible roads.

* This later gets dumped when we realise an egg sarnie that has been sweating away under a jacket all the way up a mountain with the sun beating down on it is probably best not eaten

Numbers

Distance: 145 kilometres

Climbing: 3000 metres

Route: https://www.strava.com/activities/560177820
Vuelta de Los Picos // Dia 4 // Riaño to Cain de Valdeón to Riaño

May 5, 2016

We wake up to sunlight streaming through the apartment windows. It is an absolutely glorious morning, but on opening a window we realise it is really very cold. Then we remember that we’re up above 1000 metres. We put on all of the layers to pop out to get coffee back at the hotel bar, then venture to the shop to buy breakfast stuff and snacks for today’s ride. The plan is to ride a loop from Riaño over one mountain pass into a valley, which will take right into the heart of the Picos, then return via another lump of mountain and part of yesterday’s valley road.

We set off wearing all of the layers – jerseys, gilets, arm warmers, knee warmers, jackets, buffs, gloves – pretty much all of the kit we have bought with us. We trace the edge of Lake Riaño before the road splits and we head in the direction of Cangas de Onis (where we stayed a couple of nights ago. The Picos are very compact, it’s probably only about 200km to circumnavigate the entire range). Despite traveling in yet another direction compared to the last two days we are still riding into a headwind, a real horrible grind it is too. There’s much muttering and swearing about wind being funneled down mountain valleys. It’s also getting greyer and colder, we’re steadily riding into cloud. Snow is lining the road and also falling from the sky. Actually it’s not falling from the sky, we’re just riding through it in the cloud. Turning from the main road onto the smaller road to the first puerto the cloud gets thicker and visibility shortens and as the gradient sharpens.

At the summit we can barely see 100 metres in any direction. It’s cold and damp, and snow flicks around our heads. We’re really not dressed for this and have no extra layers. We discuss the possibility that if it gets any worse on the other side we may just have to sack the day off as a lost cause. Concern is expressed about how sketchy the descent may be if the road is wet and slippery. We decide to ride on and within 20 metres of dropping down the other side we’re below the cloud, the road is dry, a beautiful green valley stretches before us and sunlight is bouncing off the snowy peaks in the distance. Within five minutes we’re hurtling through fast corners accompanied by our shadows. I’m so glad we didn’t bail on top of Puerto de Panderrueda in the snow.

The first resident we encounter as we reach the village of Posada de Valdeón is a donkey eating a soggy cardboard box in the middle of the village square. Not sure if this triggers our decision to eat but within a few minutes we’re sitting down to yet another menu del dia and a bottle of Rioja. After lunch we head further into the valley to Cain de Valdeón. All we really know is it’s a 9km road and we’ll drop another 450-500 metres. What we don’t expect is how absolutely spectacular the road is, twisting through farmland at the top end, then wooded sections, and a narrow gorge lower down, sections of the road up to 20% (which after flying down we realise we’re going to have to clamber back up shortly), all the while massive snowy peaks rise all around us, way over 2000 metres. It truly is the most amazing bit of road we’ve ever ridden, simply stunning. Not for the first time this trip we think it can’t get any better and then we turn another corner and blown away by what we see. We follow it all the way to the end where it turns into a gravel path and disappears into the mountains. We realise the river we’ve been following and flowing past our feet further into the rocks is the Rio Cares, the same river through the beautiful gorge on the way to Panes a couple of days ago. Looking at the map we realise it’s only about 20km through the middle of the Picos back to that road, and immediately wish we had cyclocross tyres!

The ride back up the valley is as beautiful despite being a whole lot more effort. The sun is high above us and layers are slowly peeled off, arm warmers rolled down, gloves stuffed in pockets, jackets stuff down jerseys and tied around waists, gilets unzipped. All the gears are needed as the tarmac ramps up to 19% then 20%, even the 13% bit through the hairpins involves standing on the pedals and breathing deeply. Back in Posada de Valdeón we turn on to the only other road out of the valley. There’s no indication on the map how high we need to climb to get back over the mountains and we can’t see an obvious gap in the hills. No puerto is shown on the map so we just ride knowing that we’re going to have to ride over whatever lays ahead, but not really expecting anything huge. The road gradually climbs for kilometre after kilometre. We climb back into the trees and towards the snow, the peaks around us getting closer and closer. We end up riding over the 1560m Puerto de Pandetrave through yet more snow. We’ve climbed almost 1100 metres in the last 20 kilometres.

The descent down the other side is straight and fast through the open fields of a shallow valley, and 15 kilometres pass quickly, but yet again into a headwind. Then we turn into another headwind back on the road to Riaño – these headwinds are starting to get ridiculous! Again there is some muttering and swearing. However it doesn’t stop today from being one of the most beautiful rides we have ever experienced, in less than 100 kilomtres we seem to have passed through three seasons, and the terrain and environment has changed considerably every 10-15 kilometres. Each valley has differed from the last, the highest and lowest points of the day marking boundaries between landscapes.

Back in town we stroll to the hotel for a couple of beers and instantly the “Oh man, do you remember that bit!?” starts…

Numbers

Distance: 95 kilometres

Climbing: 3200 metres

Route: https://www.strava.com/activities/559387295
Vuelta de Los Picos // Dia 3 // Potes to Riaño

May 5, 2016

The original plan for today was to ride up to Fuente De in the morning before returning to Potes for the ride to Riaño. However the last couple of days have been quite hard and the riding time is longer than expected, and I know there is a lot of climbing yet to come this week. Therefore I’ve decided to skip this morning’s climb and have a shorter easier day.

So whilst George gets up early and heads out for the 45km round trip to Fuente De, I have a lie in and then stroll to the supermarket to buy breakfast. Over breakfast I peruse the map and notice there is a small road into the hills just outside Potes, which leads to a viewing point. I decide to pootle out to this to warm up the legs, aiming to be back at the apartment for when George expects to be back from his excursion up the mountain. Just as I’m leaving George appears back from his early climb and decides to join me on the short climb to a small chapel just past the monastery of Santo Toribio de Liébana.

On our way back through town we snatch a quick caffeine break in a small bar before heading to the apartment to get sorted for the ride to Riaño. As we check out I read the detailed contour map on the office wall. The owner asks where we are heading, George says “Riaño”, he replies “I hope you’ve been training, you have to get over the San Glorio pass!” with a knowing laugh. Just at this moment I notice the number on the isopleth next to the road – 1600 metres! We’re currently at around 250 metres. Oh. So much for an easier day. On the plus side it’s only 56km to Riaño.

A few kilometres from Potes we pass through the town of La Vega where the Arroyo de Prado Rio and Rio Quinnesa merge, and the road starts to rise as we spot a sign that says ‘Pto. de San Glorio 18km’. The next 18 kilometres is the most stunning road we’ve ridden so far (and the climb to Covadonga, and two gorges, yesterday were pretty spectacular). The bottom section of the climb is gradual rise away from the river bank through meadows, before a couple of hairpins lift us high away from the river. The gradient stays pretty steady for the next 16 kilometres as we climb through wooded corners and switchbacks above the tree line and towards the snow. We know we’re nearing the top as red and white snow poles stand like sentries every few metres along the road side. Every time we look up we can see barriers higher on the mountain side but can’t quite figure where the pass will be in the landscape ahead. We climb higher and higher as the road turns back and forth.

Finally the road straightens and the pass is visible ahead, the signs silhouetted against the sky. Over the top the wind whistles and the cold starts to bite. Until now we’ve been exerting enough effort to not notice the cold now we are up in the snow. We carb up on the chorizo and cheese I find in my bag as I extract my merino sweater, an additional later to wear under the gilet and jacket. George tucks the empty cheese and chorizo packets down his gilet as an extra windbreak. It really is quite cold. We’re at 1600 metres and the wind howls over the pass.

The next 25 kilomteres pass with little effort as they are all downhill, except maybe the last few around the edge of the lake at Riaño. It’s not quite as effortless as we’d like as we’re also riding into a headwind that is blowing straight up the valley. We stop for a coffee and cake in a small bar in a little village on the descent, as apart from the snack at the summit we’ve not eaten since breakfast. Once in Riaño we dump the bikes and get changed to stroll around the town, which is absolutely deserted out of season. There’s no supermarket, just a Spar cornershop, and it’s shut. All the restaurants seem to be closed too. We end up having a couple of beers in one of the two open hotels in town, snacking on olives and crisps but we really need a meal. We manage to find a burger in a small bar but this simply satisfies our hunger for a short period until we can find a serving of fabada back in the hotel we first had the beers in. At last our appetites are satisfied and we fall asleep contented.

Numbers

Distance: 63 kilometres

Climbing: 2550 metres

Route: https://www.strava.com/activities/558278255
Vuelta de Los Picos // Dia 2 // Cangas de Onis to Potes

May 3, 2016

Whilst I breakfast on bread, ham and cheese and watch the weather forecast on Spanish telly, George is fiddling with allen keys and his crankset. The day before leaving the UK, whilst suffering with a fever and tiredness, he replaced the inner ring and accidentally bolted it on the wrong way round. He spent the whole of yesterday big ringing everything and it made his knees hurt. Today we have the first mountain climb of the trip, up to Lagos de Covadonga, and all of the gears will be needed.

Over 12 kilometres and a height gain of around 1000 metres we climb into the clouds. At times we can only see about 100 metres ahead and we have no idea where the top is until we see a sign for one of the lakes. Unfortunately there is no sign of the lake itself as it is shrouded in fog. We continue to the second lake at the top of the road, which again is hidden from sight.

Having climbed the last five kilometres in cloud we are quite a bit cold and decide to have a coffee at the bar. We then notice it is pretty much lunchtime so opt for the ‘menu del dia’ and load up on carbs and protein (we’ve still got a full day’s riding once we get back down to the bottom), along with a bottle of Rioja mixed with fizzy water (a northern Spanish thing), because obviously half a bottle of red before a 12 kilometre descent makes perfect sense.

When we leave the bar we realise that we can see the other side of the car park and a lake. The cloud has lifted and the views on our way back down the mountain are fantastic, it suddenly becomes apparent how high we had climbed. We pull into one of the viewing points a couple of hundred metres from the top and watch a couple of vultures or eagles circling high over another peak.

The descent is fast and fun, with a few squeally moments going into corners a bit too fast, but we can see far enough ahead to use all the road into the bends. We detour into the Sanctuary of Covadonga to look around before we drop back into the valley to pick up the road to Panes.

Turning onto the valley road we see that we have 50km to Panes, and then maybe another 30km to Potes. Initially we follow the Ríu Güeña before drifted away from this valley over a long steady climb. At the top we stop briefly to look down into the next valley watching the road disappear through a tunnel and around the edge of the gorge. The descent into the Ríu Casañu valley is incredibly fast, and within a few kilometres we pass where the Casañu runs into the Rio Cares and we find ourselves riding a stunning road squeezed between a rock face and the river.

The gorge opens into a valley as we near Panes. The last 50 kilometres have taken longer than expected due to the climb between valleys so we decide to stop for tea and cake in a little bar on the road out towards Potes. The road from Panes is through another gorge, along the Rio Deva, tighter and twistier than the last one. At every corner the view gets more magnificent, sheer cliff walls framing mountain peaks ahead. We feel like we are riding downhill despite riding against the flow of the river. We can’t work it out as we dropped continually into Panes, it makes no sense that we can be descending any further*. Again the gorge opens into a lush valley of meadows and farmland, and the last few kilometres into Potes are quickly covered and only interrupted by a cattle drive along the main highway.

It’s been another long day. Nine hours since we set off this morning, but through beautiful landscapes that seem to change every 25-30 kilometres, from wooded foothills to a bare, rocky mountain top, then two stunning valley roads through narrow gorges. It definitely feels like we’ve arrived in the mountains proper and we are excited to see what the next few days bring.

* Looking at the profile later we realise that actually we’d been steadily climbing again for 25km, yet it really didn’t feel like it.

Picture of me (silver shoes, pink bar tape) by George

Numbers

Distance: 124 kilometres

Climbing: 3000 metres

Route: https://www.strava.com/activities/557595903
Vuelta de Los Picos // Dia 1 // Asturias airport to Cangas de Onis

May 2, 2016

As our flight descends over the Atlantic Ocean towards the Spanish coast our quarry is clearly visible from the window, the Picos de Europa piercing distant cloud. Three limestone massifs covering the corners of Asturias, Cantabria and Castilla y León, the Picos are the highest point of the Cordillera Cantábrica, the mountain range that runs the length of northern Spain from the Pyrenees to Galicia. From the plane window it becomes obvious just how high they are, their snowy peaks clearly dwarfing everything else in sight.

After rebuilding the bikes in the deserted arrivals area at Asturias airport we stash our boxes behind the recycling bin, hoping that they might still be here when we return in six days time. The Garmin is booted up ready for us to find our way to Decathlon in Gijón so I can either order in or buy a bike bag to pick up on our way back at the end of the week. Also George needs to find somewhere to hide his bike bag so he doesn’t have to carry it over his shoulder for the next 600 kilometres. (If you plan to take bikes to Asturias it’s worth noting there is no left luggage facility at the airport, hence the stashing of boxes and hiding of bike bags.)

The sky is clear and the sun warm, for the first time this year we don’t need to wear all of the layers and riding with naked knees and elbows is a pleasure not felt since last autumn. Our route takes us to Avilés, as it seems there may be an opportunity to leave a bag at the bus station but the left luggage lockers are all broken. The main AS-19 takes us onwards to Gijón which isn’t particularly pleasant. Fortunately our route takes us off this and onto twisting gravel lanes that form part of El Camino de Santiago, before briefly dropping us back on the AS-19 on the outskirts of Gijón before we find a cycle path to Decathlon, passing a footbridge which is the ideal place for George to stash his bike bag.

I find a bike bag in stock and Decathlon are happy to hold it until Saturday for me. Brilliant, that saves the hassle of trying to find a bike box somewhere at the end of the week. We head off towards the hills, stopping briefly to grab some sarnies, chocolate donuts and water for a picnic outside a supermarket. The climbing proper starts immediately after lunch as we start our way towards Villaviciosa. Our plotted route uses lots of small lanes and sharp climbs to avoid bigger roads, but much of what the online route finder considers rideable isn’t on road bikes. Parts of it don’t even seem to be paths of any kind. After one too many dead ends and annoying returns back up sharp climbs we realise we’re against it time wise. We didn’t set off from the airport until midday and what with the faffing with bags and getting lost we’re only half way and it’s already gone 4pm. A quick look at the map and we decide to take the main roads to Villaviciosa and to Infiesto and then on to Cangas de Onís. Climbing the hill to Villaviciosa we catch our first glimpse of the Picos since the aeroplane this morning. Our decision to take the main road has turned out okay as we’ve barely seen a car and the descent into Villaciciosa is sweeping and fast.

After the rapid descent into the town we start the next climb, eleven kilometres of a steady gradient over into the Piloña valley. Once over this lump the next 30km are pretty much all downhill, a steep drop to the town of Infiesto followed by a gentle ramp along the valley east to Arriondas. From here we turn south and towards Cangas de Onís, sitting in the foothills to the Picos and once the capital of the Kingdom of Asturias.

Once we’ve found our apartment* we change and stroll into town, over the hump backed Roman Bridge, to look for dinner. We find a resturant that has a three course menu del dia including a bottle of Asturian cider for 11 euros each. The perfect end to a long day.

* We’re doing ‘credit card bikepacking’. Rather than kipping in bivvy bags under the stars we opted to book apartments at various towns. We’re here out of season so accommodation was easy to find and cheap. It means we can have real beds and clean kit every couple of days in a washing machine rather than a river.

Numbers

Distance: 131 kilometres

Climbing: 2100 metres

Route: https://www.strava.com/activities/556611546
Bespoked 2016 weekender

April 23, 2016

Since first visiting the Bespoked Handmade Bicycle Show in Bristol a few years back the thought of riding to (and maybe from) the show has been floating around my head. I finally got around to it this year. One reason was that my friend Jo did a framebuilding course (that link is part one, the rest of it can be found on road.cc if you want to read the full story) and did a pinky swear with Downland Cycles that he would ride his bike to Bespoked, so it could go on their stand. This seemed as good an opportunity to ride there as any. Second reason was that it then transpired that road.cc needed Jo to report on the show and someone to take photos. All sorted then. Well, not quite. The frame built at Downland Cycles was still at the sprayers. A back-up plan was hatched, there was another frame being built by Reilly Cycleworks that would be ready. Just. [See the film]

Thursday 14th April

Big ride day. Friends of Jo live “just the other side of Salisbury” which sounded feasible in a day, around 100 miles. Actually, they live near Warminster which is a bit further than “just” the other side. When the shortest line was plotted between Brighton and there the first day’s riding worked out at around 115 miles. The line drawn was roughly through Petworth, Petersfield, Winchester, and Salisbury but without actually going through any of those places. I think that Jo was secretly happy that the fixie frame was still at the sprayers as it meant he could ride the bike with gears. The route wasn’t too hilly, gently undulating across West Sussex, Hampshire, and Wiltshire. Navigation for the first half of the ride was relatively simple – keep the South Downs and the sun on our left. We missed a couple of turns so wiggled about more than we needed, but the sun was shining and we made decent progress. After a short alpine like climb out of Petersfield we dropped onto the A272 for a few timetrial-esque miles and stopped for a pub lunch. After lunch we managed to go the wrong way, or I managed to send us the wrong way, which I should have realised when we ended up in the middle of a town I knew we didn’t go through, but then shortly after noticed my shadow was on the left of me – “Hang on, we’re heading in the wrong direction”. Once back on route we managed to find some bridleways, after turning off a main road that was no fun. A quick glance at the gps app on my phone and it looked like there was a network of lanes that would get us to where we wanted to be. The lanes got narrower and more farm track like and then over the brow of a hill we could see a gravel track extending into the distance. It went from gravel track to grass track to mud and puddles. Jo’s 40mm gravel tyres suddenly came into their own as my 28mm slicks became less useful. Overall it only lasted a few miles which turned out to be some of the nicest of the day. It’s always worth getting a little lost to find gems like this. Crossing the border into Wilstshire we traversed Salisbury Plain past Porton Down and various MOD installations, the spire of Salisbury Catherdral pointing into the sky down to our left. A couple of lumpy climbs made us use all the gears, the 110 miles ridden so far started to bite. Finally we found our way into the Wylye Valley for the final 10 miles of the day. The road along the valley was lovely, all gentle sweeps and rises, but every little gradient made itself felt, and every opportunity to freewheel was utilised. One hundred and twenty eight miles and 11 hours after leaving the south coast we made it to our destination, in time for fish and chips, ale and a couple of whiskies.

https://www.strava.com/activities/545515887

Friday 15th April

Before the off we nip down the A36 to a transport caff for a fry up. Marginal gains, obviously. It’s a shorter day today, just 45 miles, and a bit greyer and damper. From Warminster we get our heads down along the main road to Trowbridge where we pick up the Kennet and Avon Canal towpath into Bath. After a quick tea stop in the centre of Bath we go round in circles for a bit trying to find our way out to the Bristol & Bath Railway Path because the canal towpath is closed throughout the city. The cyclepath leads us slap bang into the middle of Bristol and we quickly find our way to Brunel’s Old Station for Bespoked.

www.strava.com/activities/546033558

Saturday 16th April

After a very nice breakfast at Hart’s Bakery* we spend the rest of the day at Bespoked. [I’ll add a link to the road.cc report and photos when it’s online]

Then we went to the pub.

*Pork and black pudding sausage roll, cheese & roast mushroom sourdough toastie, custard tart. Three courses! We missed a meal the day before and woke up quite big ride hungry still. I can heartily recommend Hart’s if you find yourself in Bristol.

Sunday 17th April

Riding the full 160 miles home was discussed and a route plotted all the way home, but with various bail points near train stations. On the day it was decided that aiming for between 80-100 miles would be most sensible, and then jump on a train. Immediately leaving the hotel car park I noticed the tell tale wibble of a broken spoke in the front wheel. Oh well, just as well I’ve got disc brakes. Snapped spoke wrapped around the one next to it we find found our way back to the railway path into Bath, for breakfast at a cafe recommended by Andrew from The Bicycle Academy. Two veggie breakfasts are ordered, but one with bacon added and one with sausage. From Bath we picked up the Kennet & Avon Canal all the way to Devizes. Again, Jo’s tyres came to the fore, but it being a sunny Sunday the towpath was quite busy, and our speed was fairly pedestrian at times. After lunch next to the canal in Devizes, we rejoined tarmac and headed south-east across the southern edge of the North Wessex Downs, the Alton Barnes White Horse visible on the slope of Milk Hill. We rolled gently across the landscape into Hampshire and down the Bourne Valley towards Overton, where we decided enough was enough for the day and hopped on a train home via London.

https://www.strava.com/activities/548358896
The Shark [Brevet des Grimpeurs du Sud 2016 ride #2]

April 11, 2016

Waiting in an underground car park early in the morning as rain falls outside. So starts my first 200km audax of the year, the second ride of this year’s Grimpeurs du Sud campaign (this ride has over 3000m of climbing). Technically the fourth, but I didn’t make the start of the first, or finish the second one. Also possibly, if I have the resolve, the start of a Super Randonneur series – 300 and 400 already in the diary, just need to find a suitable 600.

Anyway, before we get carried away with that nonsense, lets get this 200 out of the way, by a long chalk the longest ride I’ve done for a while. In fact, the last ride longer than this started in the same car park, the Greenwich Mean Climb. Both rides organised by the good folks at Audax Club Hackney, fast becoming my favourite audax organisers and definitely the best arrivées. I’m riding this one on the Tri-Cross which has been altered from it’s winter cyclocross mode to light touring mode ready for a trip to Asturias in a couple of weeks – 28mm road tyres and an 11-32 cassette combined with the 46-36 CX crankset.*

As well as the same organiser & départ venue The Shark has a fair amount in common with the Greenwich Mean Climb, it heads for Seaford on the south coast and back again with parts of it covering the same route as the Mean Climb, some in reverse, plus I was riding with George again. We head out of London in a large bunch via Blackheath and Bromley, before the group starts to split as the climbs start around Keston. There a nasty little 25% ramp on our way to the north downs ridge before the descent of Brasted Hill and the climb over Toys & Ide Hills. From here it was down to Crowborough through Penshurst and Groombridge, which was part of the GMC but backwards. Last time we rode these lanes it was pitch black so it was nice to experience them in daylight.

What wasn’t so nice was that ever since leaving Greenwich it had rained harder and harder, we were wet and cold to our bones. Whizzing down the hill after the Ide Hill control we pass our friend Andy, who has stopped with a group of riders in a pub carpark, I shout hello and in return I hear “This is f*cking horrible” through the wind and rain. I’ve lost the feeling in my fingers and toes (I really should buy some proper gloves and overshoes) which made it particularly unpleasant when I have to stop for a puncture near Beech Bough reservoir, as Andy overtakes us again. At this point I was starting to think this might be my third Grimpeurs fail of the year, I am starting to look for reasons to pack. However I get the thing fixed and crack on as the rain slowly starts to ease.

We catch up with Andy again on a lane on the way towards Groombridge and ride to the first control with him. After some up and downing skirting the edge of the Ashdown Forest and across the high weald we slowly descend towards Chiddingly for the control, via local(ish) lanes new to me. I do love an audax for finding routes in your back yard you don’t know. Once brevets are stamped in Chiddingly Village Hall a hot cup of tea is incredibly welcome.

We set of from Chiddingly in a small peleton – me, George, Andy plus a group of his friends – across the flatlands around Ripe to Alfriston before it splintered on the steep side of High and Over and down into Seaford for the next info control. Regrouped on the seafront, we turn around and retrace our wheel tracks almost all the way back to Chiddingly in the bunch at a fair old whack. Here the return route veers off for the long climb through Horam and Heathfield, where the group stretch out again, before the inevitable rollercoaster lanes into Mayfield for the next control. This time it’s an open control (i.e., it’s up to us what we do but we need a receipt or something with the time and location on it to prove we were here) and there’s a queue in the tea rooms most people have stopped at. I know there’s another cafe up the street as it’s used on the Hills & Mills audax, but unfortunately it’s shut, so we opt for snacks from the local shop and sit on the pavement chatting with one of the ACH riders.

Once refueled it’s back onto part of the GMC for the final 60 odd kilometres back into London, first through Rotherfield and Crowborough before diverting off the GMC route towards Edenbridge and Hever Castle, all the time knowing we are getting closer to Toys Hill. This is my first time up the sharp side of Toys Hill and with over 160km in the legs the gradient bites, particularly as it slowly steepens until I’m forced out of the saddle. Stopping at the top for the final info control I eat the last of the snacks bought in Mayfield, ready for the 30km push back to Greenwich.

As we head towards the final ascent of the North Downs and I’m thinking “at least we’re not going back up Brasted Hill” I see the lane ahead go straight up the side of the ridge. What? It’s like a Sussex bostal but without bothering with any corners. It’s a vile climb, worse than Brasted, and instantly enters the list of climbs to never do again. I may have walked some of it. At least once up on the North Downs we can see the view this afternoon, this morning it was shrouded in mist and rain. I hadn’t noticed the abundance of bluebells in the woods along the ridge, which we get a closer look at when it’s George’s turn to suffer a flat.

Tyre inflated again we push on for the final stretch into London, back through Keston Village, then Hayes and Bromley. There’s a lot more traffic weaving compared to this morning and for the last few kilometres I’m feeling decidedly bonky, the distance, the climbing, and this morning’s weather all having taken their toll. We pass where we left the car on Blackheath this morning and freewheel down onto the one way system in Greenwich to find our way to the arrivée in a pub garden in the sunshine. Unfortunately, we have to turn straight around and ride back up the hill to drive back to Brighton.

It’s a slow climb.

Thanks to George for driving to and from London (and for being stupid enough to want to get up at 4 in the morning to drive to London just to ride pretty much home and then turn around and ride back to London again). Thanks also to Ivan and other members at Audax Club Hackney for yet another cracking ride.

*The 36×32 combo, forever more to be referred to as “The Spanish Gear”, did get called into action on a few hills today just because it was there. I also found that it is very easy to spin out 46×11 on the descents.