This Page: Into the 90's/ 115 Not Out.
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Into the 90's 15 APR 99
As part of my preparation for a proposed 200 mile trip in June, I had gradually been increasing the mileage of each journey and was now ready (so I thought) to try for an 8 hour trip with the aim of getting near to 100 miles. Although I intended to set off at around 1000, various obstacles got in my way and I didn't get going until 1145. I thought about taking lights but didn't think I would need them. So it was that I set off on my modified cheapo mountain bike towards the Humber Bridge. After climbing the hill into South Ferriby and heading towards Brigg I quickly found out I had made two big mistakes. I had changed my seat only the day before to a so called gel one, more like gelignite, as my rear end was getting very sore even after 15 miles. The other mistake was setting off when there was a force 6-7 wind blowing from the West, definitely not recommended. Anyway, it was too late to turn back and so the first stop came after 75 minutes when I came to change my Minidisc.
After 2-3 minutes and a quick drink it was off again. Passing through Brigg town and on towards Redbourne and the second Minidisc wanted changing. This time I relaxed on a nearby picnic bench and ate 4 energy bars, an apple and drank some energy type blue drink. I took out the GPS and saw my position come up on the map. I drew a line on the screen toward Gainsborough and measured the distance. I should get there for 1530, all being well. But all was not well, The westerly wind was now blowing relentlessly in my face and would do for the next 2 � hours. It was a real grind to the village of Kirton Lindsey, but at least the view was spectacular. I could see the three great power stations of Yorkshire; Drax, Eggborough and Ferrybridge and also the 3 Trent stations of West Burton, Cottam and High Marnham. Another stop near Blyton had me huddling behind a hedge in a field of nettles trying to get out of the wind. Eventually, I rode in to Gainsborough at around 1600- quite late.
After crossing the Trent into Nottinghamshire, I saw a "real cyclist " in the distance with all the gear on. I was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt. After a while, I realised that I was catching him up and after two more miles I wasn't far off. Just then a really bad gust of wind seemed to stop him in his tracks, but it didn't seem to affect me as much, as I had put up with it for the last 4 � hours. I sailed past and onwards, hoping for the turn back to the North and wondering if there was much of a Southern component to the wind. There should have been, as the wind seemed to be present heading South earlier on. Eventually the turn came and I headed into the Notts. village of Misterton.
Earlier on, I had filled my drinks bottle with a Lucozade type drink and it had coated the outside of the bottle, soon my right hand was covered in horrible sticky sugar, which also coated the 'bars. I decided to stop at the next pub to wash my hands and have a pint of shandy. It was sunny now and a friendly dog came out to eat most of my cake. When the landlady called me "duck" I knew I was still in Notts. The border into Lincolnshire was 3 miles further on. I was now suffering from major bum ache and could not remain in the saddle for longer than 3 or 4 minutes. The other problem was the light, it was 5 o clock and I needed to get home before sunset. But when was sunset? I remembered that my GPS had sunrise and sunset times and so stopped to turn it on. Sunset was at 1945 and I was still 35 miles from home. But I still had that westerly wind, that would blow me home, surely?
At last at Crowle, I could turn to the East and get that wind on my back. Unfortunately, because my rear end was like a baboon's, I couldn't take full advantage as I had to stand every couple of minutes because of the pain. Even so on the busy A18, I was cruising at 18-22 m.p.h. Scunthorpe was reached around 1830 and the long climb in to the Lincolnshire Wolds followed. A final stop at the top and it would be touch and go if I could get home before sunset. At last the Humber Bridge was reached at 1945 and the streetlights were just coming on as I reached home. The stats. were distance 92 miles in 7 hours 15 mins at an average of 12.7 m.p.h.
I was going to put some lights on and change the seat to finish off the final 8 miles when "our lass" reminded me that we were going to the pub. After a quick sauna and shower, I thought about doing the 8 miles when the pub closed. Unfortunately, after half a gallon of ale, rigor mortis quickly set in and such thoughts were quickly banished. I had learned quite a few things about food, drink, the importance of a comfortable saddle, taking lights and most important, not to attempt such things until there is a ruddy great high pressure sat over the country and not a breath of wind forecast for days to come.
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115 Not Out. 14 MAY 99
I suppose it wasn't the greatest of preparations for a cycling trip, playing a 90 minute soccer match on a full sized pitch the night before, but it just turned out like that. The weather this week has been shocking with some of the worst downpours I've seen for many a year, so when the weather forecast for Friday 14 May was dry, I decided to take my chance as my work pattern was now in its summer plumage, with 7 days on and only 2 off for most of the summer excepting holidays.
As this was to be a longish run, I had to set off fairly early and so around 08:00 I ventured on to the streets in fairly cool but dry conditions. Heading south over the Humber Bridge, I noticed the old river was like a millpond and glancing at Angus Windsock at the Southern end I saw it hanging limp and forlorn on its long pole. It all boded well for a good day's cycling. Music was being provided by German group Can and it also gave me a chance to find out how long these lithium Minidisc batteries would last. They are quoted at 6 hours, but at quite low volumes.
Next up was the long haul (for Lincs.) up to the top of South Ferriby hill and the 35-mph descent. What a difference with no wind; last time I was up here I could only manage 15 mph in to a force 7 down the same hill. That wind really sapped my energy. Anyway, after 74 minutes the first disc ended and it was time for a quick break in a field outside Burton upon Stather, near the mouth of the Trent. The next disk was Swedish keyboard wizard, Bo Hansson, who used to feature a lot on Radio Sweden in the 70's.
After checking the next phase of the journey on the map, whilst eating two Kiwi fruit, I realised something was missing. A few seconds later he appeared on cue, Farmer Giles in his tractor and trailer bombing over the horizon heading in my direction. I was just about finished anyway, so I got my things together and set off. "Yes, I was trespassing on your fine weed infested field, Mr Farmer, Bye".
Next was Flixborough, which has bad memories for me. In 1974 my father was a Fire Officer in Hull when the Nipro plant exploded. I remember hearing the bang on my paper round 20 miles away in Cottingham. This was before the Humber Bridge was built and he had to drive the long way round during the fire. He fell asleep on the way back once, crashed and ended up in a coma for 6 months.
Anyway, on with the ride. After crossing the Trent via the very dangerous narrow, iron bridge in Gunness, with impatient lorry drivers alongside, it was time to head south on the winding road that hugs the West side of the Trent towards Gainsborough. There was now a Northerly breeze at my back and I thought that this was what cycling was all about. Mayflies skimming over the river on my left and a lovely meandering peaceful road ahead. Passing through the village of Owston Ferry, the second disc ended just as I pulled up outside a public loo that had running water, soap and a hot air hand dryer. Thanks folks, it was really well looked after.
A quick sandwich and drink and it was on towards West Stockwith in Nottinghamshire. At this point I turned 90o towards the West on a straight line towards Bawtry. Passing the pub in Misterton, I smiled when I saw the same dog that had eaten my cake on the last trip. The county borders change frequently here and soon it was back into Lincs. , followed by Notts. again and then South Yorkshire. On climbing a railway bridge a sharp pain suddenly shot up the outside of my left knee. My heart sank, I thought I'd seen that particular injury off. It was unbearable; I had to take all the strain on my right leg, which caused the right thigh to get hot. After a couple of miles the pain in the knee gradually disappeared and I couldn't even force it to return. Very strange. As I approached the town of Doncaster, the weather began to change. The dark clouds were threatening and a nasty Northeast wind was building up. I was now 45 miles from home.
Busy roads followed, the A18 was gingerly negotiated as I headed for the Thorpe Marsh power station in Barmby Dun and on to Stainforth and Fishlake. The drizzle started around 2-30 p.m. as I rode down Moorends High Street. Pub, Video Shop, Pub, Betting Shop, Hairdressers, Video Shop, Chinese, Chip Shop, Pub, Video Shop, well you get the idea. This is a real mining town, with John Smiths pubs the size of castles, to cater for the thirsty miner.
The next stop was taken in the drizzle, sat in a remote wet field in what is known as Thorne Moors. A bleak flat void some 12 miles by 8 of nothingness. Only peat cutters exist on this wasteland. Huddling behind a hedge to keep the wind off, I realised that I really must take some plastic sheet to sit on next time as by bottom was getting rather wet.
Onwards towards Rawcliffe Bridge and then Goole was reached around 4-00 p.m. Parking my bike in the main pedestrian street and walking like John Wayne towards Woolworth's, I felt for my money in my back pocket. A couple of sodden notes and two credit cards came out glued together. The lady in the shop looked quizzically at the money and I had to explain that I'd just ridden 90 miles and an hour earlier had been sat in a wet field in Moorends. She said that I'd be ready for the drinks I had bought. Indeed I was.
The Minidisc battery finally expired around the remote village of Saltmarshe after 6 hours 20 minutes, so it was out with the Walkman and soon I was greeted by the flat tones of "Sir" Geoffrey Boycott prattling on about when he were batting for Yorkshire, when he was supposed to be commentating on England's game. After a couple of minutes something was wrong. The back wheel was locking up. I got off and saw why. I had forgotten to stow the earphones for the Minidisc away and they had become entangled in the rear sprocket. The earpieces were both decapitated and it took me a couple of minutes to extract the wires from the derailleur and cassette.
The rain was now coming down in stair rods and my fleece and tracksuit bottoms were sodden. The black clouds and featureless flat landscape added to the misery. It was now 5-00pm and I decided to head for a chip shop I know in Gilberdyke. I must have looked a sight as I walked in bedraggled and cold. I ate the fish and chips in a deserted pub beer garden sitting on the wet wooden benches.
I wanted to keep away from the busy A63, so it was a case of zig zagging back home along country lanes. Broomfleet, Ellerker and Brough were passed and then I realised I would have to contend with a steep hill into Swanland. 110 miles were on the clock and my legs were not functioning properly. I couldn't work out whether it was lack of power in the leg muscles, or the pain in both knees, meaning that I couldn't put the power down onto the pedals. Either way, it was becoming a real struggle and I couldn't manage the climb and had to walk. It was downhill all the way home, but it didn't matter. I couldn't go above 11 mph. My legs were just going round and round nothing more.
I have 6 weeks to figure out how to overcome this problem. I don't think it's food related as I have eaten plenty today and even put on weight as I found out later. Probably it is lack of thigh muscle strength, but I've got to find another 85 miles of gas from somewhere. Arriving home, it was now quite dry and warm and I got ready for the Tap and Spile.
Final figures were 115 miles in 9 hours at an average of 12.7 mph.
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Journey's End-The Double Century