Bedford Dry Run

No cycling this weekend. Saturday I'd arranged a practice flight from Earls Colne to Bedford for a fly in/track-day in July. Sunday The Lady BumpyConstant's folks are over, so I'll be busy coming up with something to cook - I'm thinking steak and ale pie. I will supply a recipe after the fact.

The area is congested airspace, near the Stansted CTA, so lots of radio work if I don't want to become an infringer. There were a few restrictions NOTAM'd on the day, including an RAF flyby directly over Bedford, so I'd be zigging-zagging, and possibly flying inverted in a 4-g dive at some point. A good day for using Satnav to keep me out of trouble.

The morning arrived blustering and showery, but MacReady would have gone up. I headed out from London and met up with Simon at Earls Colne. He was his usual positive, professional self, and after a brief discussion over the screaming wind, we decided it was all go. I threw together an old-school plan using the whizz wheel, rulers and pens, just for the fun of it. Satnav's great these days though, so I wouldn't really need it.

Bottom right to top left then back. Avoid pink and red bits. Don't hit anything.

In numbers.

Once done we had coffee, then tanked up. Immediately after it blasted rain down, so we played around with the Satnav. We'd be relying on it in this crummy weather.

I'll have 100LL then.

Never too wet for MacReady.

Soon enough the shower passed, I continued the checklist, Simon fiddled with the Satnav, and the O-320 fired up. The strong wind meant only a touch of collective needed to hover. T's & P's were green, a brief 'Whisky Delta departing north', and I pushed forward to take us up. Aloft I clearly saw the bands of rain streaming down from the north. More zig-zagging required, and it was great to be back up again. 

I mostly avoided the showers, and when I couldn't, grannying through with my eyes closed worked best for me. I requested Basic Service off Farnborough and dialled in the transponder code, whilst Simon fiddled some more with the Satnav, which finally broke it. Back to the chart and dead reckoning. Satnav's overrated anyway, I'm sure Macready would never have used it.

The old Bedford aerodrome. Don't land on any cars.

A successful landing.

Marin Roughride

Last weekend I did the Marin Roughride. I thought it would be easy, as the distance did not seem like much. For a road bike on a road that is. At 75km for the long route, I didn't even entertain the possibility of doing the short one. It's actually a mountain biking event, but I somehow thought it would be a doddle on a cross bike. 

In the event I saw only two other cross bikes, one ridden by the friend I was doing the ride with. The other was an intense fellow on a Planet X, who looked as if he'd done the course twice before the start as a warm up. At any rate, after pitching tent, dialling in the bikes, and laughing at those crazy mountain bikers, we had some beers.

overwhelmed by the country air.

Then we hit Kington for some more beers. The town is very picturesque, and might or might not be in Wales.

Old skule bunting.

It was of course Kington's annual wheelbarrow race. Villagers get pushed about in wheelbarrows of varying degrees of complexity and decoration, stopping at each pub for a drink. Points are gained for speed, style and precision. The locals certainly took it very seriously.

 

After all this was over, and the best team won, we bought more beer at a co-op and headed back to the campground. Proper rest and nutrition is important to your cyclocross rider. After sufficient beers to build up our stores of vital stuff, we turned in. Ian snored like a rhino, and it rained. Perhaps the two were related.

The next day dawned bright and early as they say, and after a breakfast of flapjack, electrolyte and boiled egg we headed for the start. We were a little late, so there was a large bunch in front of us. Not a problem for your dedicated crosser though. We would cut through them like knives through butter. Butter that's been in the fridge for quite a while. After a final check that our tyres and brakes were inadequate, we headed off. After the first three hills, on damp moorland tracks, it became apparent why mountain bikers favour low gears, fat tyres and strong brakes.

Great views though, on the occasions I wasn't stuck in the bottom of a gully somewhere, dragging myself and my bike up a steep hill, or quietly sobbing. The course was relentless, one hill after another, and most definitely not best suited to a cross bike. The high gearing meant having to push and carry uphill, and the light brakes and thin tyres meant having to frequently carry it downhill as well. Perfect.

When I got to the course split, I realised the error of my ways, and decided against doing the longer one. I just couldn't handle throwing my bike down many more descents and following on foot. Almost as little as I could handle another ascent, if no one was carrying my bike up for me.

Cross bike for sale.

If my time was too terrible, I'd pretend I'd done the long one. I even considered leaving the bike and walking, after setting fire to the carbon bits, but concern for the environment held me back. Anyway, I'll be back next year, maybe on a road bike, carrying the cross on my back for the rougher bits. Yes, that should work.

On the road, post Roughride, sipping vicious spew.