samuri.co.uk

Bike: Vela
Distance:27 miles

Well that was a shitty end to a shitty week or riding. Only did 89 miles all week and the last ride, todays, pretty much summed up my experiences.

Absolutely chucked it down, I was completely saturated by the time I got to Belmont. Heading over the moors the wind was so strong and the rain flying so hard I could barely see. I was actually worried a car might comeand not see me visibility was so badly impaired. By the time I got back down to rivington I was exhausted and cold and soaked and even though the rain had slowed to a trickle, I’d had enough and headed for home. Caned it along Chorley new road, approached the roundabout at the Reebok a bit too fast, braked too late and couldn’t stop because my rims were wet, had to make a split second decision and stood up on the pedals and nailed it out in front of a car. Oops, never mind.

Going to have to do some catching up next week. Only 89 miles in a week? I’ll be finding it hard to get out of my chair soon.

Bike:Humu
Distance: 31 miles

Now I did write a wonderful account of how I rode to work in the dark and then rode back and how SOME FUCKING RETARD OF A HUMAN BEING IN A BMW ACTUALLY ALMOST KILLED ME, but the internet lost it and I’m not writing it again.

I’ll summize though.

Ride to work, it’s dark now all the way, shit. Fuck me, riding to work with riding kit for the return journey, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, tools and spare, socks, underpants, two fecking shoes, butties, an apple, a tangerine, some money and assorted work paraphinalia, means one heavy bag.

Ride back, a bit chilly, not dark yet, fast though, it’s been a nice ride back hom…WOOOAAH WHAT THEW FUCK!!!??? I’ve been passing a line of parked cars, a BELL END in a BMW overtook me at the same time, and then a lorry came the other way. Where was the BMW driver going to go you ask? That’s right, where I was.

My handlebars, which are very narrow on the humu, were touching her car, and a parked car at the same time for one brief, terrifying moment. I literallly, nearly shit myself. I actually thought I was going to die. And not a fun death where your heart gives out while nailing courtney cox but a crap death where you get dragged under the wheels of a fuckwit in a managerial company car that she’s took 17 years to attain and loves more than her own children (one of whom was saying ‘Mummy, you’re killing someone’, while staring into my adrenaline coated eyeballs).  ‘SCEEERTHCH’, said the grips, and pow, she was past. I lurched right , recovered and then…well, quite a lot of short words came out of my mouth. My hands moved quite a lot too.

I lent on the pedals. If I’d been on my roadbike I’d have caught her and she would now have a not window I was that angry but sadly, 44:16 is not deep enough to catch shitheads in german cars. I even caged it through pennington flash in the hope she’d get caught in traffic but sadly she was long gone by the time I got to the bridge.

Bike:Humu
DIstance:31 miles

Commute. The forces conspire against me this week although this was a lovely ride in to work. Still dark when I set off, a girl in a petrol station flirted with me and then I got to ride through the ground mist with the sun rising in the distance, wish I’d had my camera with me.

Going to be really tricky to get my 100 miles in this week. I reckon I can get another commute in on Friday although my wife is trying her hardest to stop that happening, the plumber has managed to stop me riding in today and I’m certainly not going to be able to go for a ride tonight as I have to run errands.

Saturday I might be able to get a quick blast in but Sunday isn’t looking good for any riding at the moment, we’ll see though.

Bike:vela
Distance: 25 miles although really I dunno

No idea, really, maybe 25 miles. Shit hot fast though despite the wind. I did a load of videos from my handlebars. Blah blah, Avi’s are Big and they fill cards up quick and old cameras can’t cope and go .beep. after only a short while at high res, ho hum.

It was quite wet too, got soaked, dried, soaked dried a few times.

Really, it’s been a shit weekend for riding, I’ve worked about 79 hours in two days (I think in reality, from finishing work on Friday afternoon, I worked from 22:00 till 02:00, then from 10:00 to 14:00 , then from 18:00 to 20:00 then from 12:00 to 05:00, and then I just said ‘yeah right, sack me), I fecking hate my job, I’m as unhappy as can be, drink is my only escape and bikes, bikes are good. I could get on a bike right now and just ride, ride, ride, for ever. But I can’t see? Responsibilities see? I haven’t been proper drunk for about 27 years. I should do it, wake up feeling like death, not done that for a long time, just completely relax and let go and say fuck it., Not been able to, see?

God I could do with a weekend where i’m not working and not on call, the company has taken my freedom. if I kill everyone who I deem responsible for this loss for freedom, I’ll be able to relax Aaah, there we go, give me a gun, I’ve got a job to do.

Bike: Vela
Distance: 27 miles

How windy???? fecking hell. You know it’s windy when you look down at the speedo and see that you’re doing 33mph on a slight incline and you’re not trying very hard. Obviously this comes and bites you in the ass when you come the other way and can’t get it past 7mph. I finished with the wind behind me though so cantered into Leigh above 30mph.

And phew! I got it past 100 miles for the week, was worried there for a while. If I get out tomorrow then that’s a bonus but that’s 111 so far but since I start work at midnight tonight and probably won’t finish till 6 or 7 in the morning I think that’s highly unlikely. This after I worked till 1:45 this morning and then had to get up at 6 to take the young’un to the ‘drome.

Bike:Velodrome
Distance: 25 miles

The distance is a guess. It’s probably still under but since I was there for two hours and the coach wasn’t keen on people sitting around resting, we pretty much rode for most of the two hours, and I’m assuming an average speed of 20mph, so probably more than 25. We did about 8 miles in the last 20 minutes, I know that because he set the counter at 40 laps and on the blue line that’s about 350m a lap.

Anyway, got there, rode a lot. Got a little bored I must admit. When there’s 40 on the track you spend an awful lot of time cruising along in a line and once the novelty of doing 20-25mph, 12 inches from the bike in front wears off and you can do it without too much effort, it starts to get a tad tedious. I was thinking, as I rode round, that maybe I should go for the ‘A’ sessions, I assume they work you properly there.

There was clearly some very quick chaps there, we did some sprinting in 4′s and 5′s and while I almost always seemed to end up with the old guys or the girls, once or twice I’d drop down to the black line with a guy in a skinsuit in front of me with calves carved from solid granite and he would take me on a very fast couple of laps. So I couldn;t understand why these lads were happy meandering round with the duffers (and the B sessions are definately filled with old blokes).

Come the last twenty minutes the coach pops up with a stopwatch.
“40 laps, try and keep up with the whistle, I’ll knock a tenth off each lap. If you can’t keep up then drop out. Start fast”

Sweet, at last. We wind up the pace and are soon shooting a long, a bit quicker than the whistle. By the time I get to the front we’re way ahead so I ease off a little bit, way too much it seems because by the time we get to the counter we’re behind the whistle. ooops The pace gets faster and faster and people start dropping out, all in front of me it seems giving me a whole lot of work to do each time to catch up to the next guy. By the the time we get to the last 5 laps the chaff is gone and there’s a hardcore of ten riders who can all take the pace. I’m the only guy on a hired bike, read: only guy on a bike with low gearing.

The chap in front of me is turning the cranks like once to every two of my turns. I am spinning away like crazy, the drive chain is humming like mad. I can hear people around me breathing hard, very hard, I am too. We fly round, gravity pummelling us into the bikes on the corners. The other riders, high and low become blurs. We are a bullet. The counter snicks down, the whistle blows, someone shouts go for it! We forget the whistle and just pedal as fast as we can. This is a thesis in pain. I focus on the guys arse in front of me. You know when you’re following an expert because nothing moves but his legs, even at these speeds. My front wheel is 2 inches from his back wheel. Nothing else exists apart from his arse, my pain, the wind.

Suddenly three sharp whistle blows indicate the task is complete. I peel up the track and we all sit up looking around, glazed looks being shaken from our eyes,  the red mist is hard to shake as a couple of guys, oblivious to the end cannon round for a couple more laps.

That was fecking great! pity the whole session can’t be like that.