Downhilling it at Tongariro

It was Auckland Anniversary weekend and we headed down to National Park for some mountain biking with the pub quiz crew from Auckland. Heading down there on the Saturday morning, the weather couldn't have been much better.

That afternoon we road down the Fishers Track - which starts just out the back of National Park. It is 20-odd km of mostly downhill, some of it dirt and some of it grass. The first part took is through chutes of Toi Tois before having to navigate quite a tricky slippery mud and rock path. This then opened out into mostly grassy paths that were heaps of fun. The most amazing part of the track was that it appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, with awesome views over native bush. The track itself involves a 500m descent, but fortunately you are not required to ascend back up (though you could if you wanted and were crazy enough). The alternative (and very wise it is too) is to book the pick-up bus to meet you at the end and take you back up to National Park where a much needed beer awaits.

The next day we got up early to ride the 42 Traverse. This again is a mostly downhill ride of around 45kms, though with a couple of descent climbs. This time you get dropped off at the start by the bus and again get returned from the bottom. Most of the trail is a mix of fire breaks and track and again surrounded by nothing but native bush. The downhills are long and pretty quick, and your hands and feet are pretty sore by the time you get to the bottom of them. There are also some stream crossings at the bottom of the descents - where admittedly Anna showed me how it is meant to be done (though, in my defense, I got some bad advise beforehand).

But it wasn't all fun and games. With no clouds in the sky and little wind, the climbs back up were a good workout. But at least this gave me the chance to get one back on the more experienced mountain bikers, as I left them behind churning up the hills - they left me behind on the downhills, so had to get them back somewhere. It was still damn hard work though, and at the top of the two hills we all needed well earned breaks and to cool down from boiling point. The reward at the end is a dip in a swimming hole - freezing cold melt water from Ruapahu just what the legs need after a good ride. The bus arrives just at the right time, this time with beers on board - you beaut!

And all this is done with enough time to drive back to Auckland that night. A damn fun and easy weekend away, we'll be doing it again. Especially now that Anna has since ditched the hire bikes and bought herself a shiny new MTB.

Some picks from the two days here.

2 times as fun

Yeah right!

Some of you will be aware that Stu and I took on the crazy challenge of doing the Round Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge, not just one, but twice. Known as the Enduro, it involves 2 laps of the 160km course.

Work, children (Stu's, not mine!), and laziness conspired to leave us typically under prepared for such an undertaking. Though it is difficult to know how much training you do need for such an event. Plenty of time on the saddle of course, though too much training and you would only leave your legs tired for the big day. Both of us only managed one ride over 200km, and were at best riding three times a week. So maybe on a bright note, our legs were well rested. And who really wants to go for training rides in the middle of the night anyway?

Not that we could avoid it for the ride though. A 1.30am start makes for difficult preparation. Was good to receive the text's of good luck, though not so much the ones sent after 8pm! I'm starting at 1.30am people, what do you think I'm trying to do....

Alarm went off at 12.30am, after a wonderful 45 minutes sleep (that's sarcasm by the way). Bit of a surreal feeling really, trying to take down some 'breakfast') is it still breakfast at that time and think that you've got a big ride ahead of you. JT and Steve got up to see us off (well, JT didn't have a choice seeing he was sleeping in the lounge), as Stu and I headed off in our layers and lights.

Down at the start line there were about 50 entrants or so. Some crazy guy was doing his 20th Enduro, and Colin Anderson, the doyen of the Taupo Cycle Challenge was there also (he's done 48 laps of the course in all, or something like that). Blissfully, we couldn't have asked for better conditions. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, plenty of stars, and very little wind. At the start, it was difficult to know what to do. Some guys took off, obviously going for a time, and I quickly learnt that there was no point trying to look behind to try and see where Stuey was, as you were just blinded by the lights.

Stu and I quickly found ourselves in a good group (which was of much relief), maybe of about 25 riders, which pretty much stayed together for the first 100kms of the first lap. It set a good pace as well, and certainly helped the night to pass quickly. The first 20kms is pretty much a steady climb, and this quickly got the body temp up. In fact, Stu and I thought at one stage that we had perhaps over dressed. However, once we got around the back of the Lake and down into a few misty vales, the cold really started bite. Especially on the downhills, when I really rued forgetting my long-fingered bike gloves as my fingers turned to popsicles.

I did have a small problem when one of my rangi lights started to come off my handlebars. Wasn't an issue though, as I hardly needed my lights anyway. Some of the riders seemed to have attached car lamps to their bikes they were giving off so much light. So Stu and I chatted away and spent quite a bit of time at the front of the group. The only difficult thing to contend with was trying to eat every now and then - a sports gel isn't that appetising for your stomach at 3am.

The split in the group finally came down the hill towards Turangi with about 50kms to go. Stu and I found ourselves going off the front with five other riders. For some unknown reason the seven of us decided that we were going to push hard (four of us really, we did the work as the other three sat behind and took the benefit). For the next 30kms to Hatepe Hill we would have averaged 35kph - maybe it was a wave of delusion at the sight of sunlight? Arriving at Hatepe we were buggered - and we only had ourselves to blame. It was a pretty slow crawl up there, and Stu and I both felt rubbish for the last 20km down into Taupo - not how you want to feel knowing you have to do it all again.

Though going past lots of riders in Taupo as they headed to the start line peaked the spirits, especially their reactions when you explained to them that you had already done one lap. We were both very much looking forward to a bit down and a change of clothes though. The lap clocked in at 5hrs37mins - around half an hour faster than I thought we would do it in. Back at the unit, we faffed about a bit. We both had a feed and Stu had a shower (I decided to give that a skip as thought it might throw out the body temperature a bit). The couch got a little comfortable for a while there, so we didn't finally get out again until after around an hour.

The downside of all that faffing though was that we missed meeting up with Anna at the start line. That meant we had to chase her down for the first 20kms. Not what the legs had wanted. And probably not want the riders at the back of the field want, seeing yellow-capped Enduro riders going past them. It was much to our relief when we finally did catch up with Anna. We then settled down into a comfortable pace and tried to enjoy the second - much warmer and sunnier - lap.

And it was enjoyable. Stu and I both could have gone faster - but we would have felt pretty average to have done so. We often found ourselves riding at the front of a group and a comfortable pace, ensuring Anna was getting a good draft. Admittedly, towards the end of the second lap the backside was getting pretty tired - but it had spent 12 hours on the saddle by then, so it is fair enough.

The final near mishap came just before Hatepe Hill. I had noticed since Turangi that my back wheel seemed to be sliding around a bit. It got worse and worse as I approached Hatepe, but I wanted to ignore it as the only thing I could think it might be was a slow flat, and replacing a tube was the last thing I felt like doing (it was sticking hot by now). But I eventually had to stop and told Anna and Stu to go ahead and I would catch up. Sure enough, the back tyre was pretty flat by now. But with 25km to go, I decided to just try and pump it up and hope that it was just a slow leak. Jumped back on and chased Anna up Hatepe Hill. I felt surprisingly good (the flat coke was kicking in now), and I must have passed hundreds of riders up the hill (they must have been thinking "what the....!"). Meet up with Stu and Anna at the top of Hatepe and happened to see someone with a floor pump. Hooked it up to my back tyre and it was only inflated to 40psi! Managed to pump it up a bit more, but no more than 60 psi, and decided to hope for the best.

And it all worked out. We enjoyed the final 20km down into Taupo (apart from some little kid who kept on trying to take us out), by now all three of us were high on flat coke, so we probably felt the best we had all day. We crossed the line together, Stu and I clocking up 13hrs19mins - though with only around 12hrs of actual riding.

And Anna - she clocked in at 6hrs36mins, an awesome time for her - I had been thinking around 7hrs. She didn't enjoy the first half - but then no one does the first time, those hills just keep on rolling - but by the end she was wanting to come back. Brad also did awesome for his first time around, at5hrs15mins. And looks like we have a few more interested for next year - with Sharon and JT on the look out for road bikes.

And will I be doing the Enduro again? Well, definitely not next year. I actually enjoyed the ride, though I wouldn't half done so half as much without Stu's company the whole way. It is the training that is tough. So will be pack to the single lap next year, train with Anna to get her under 6hrs, and maybe look to go under 5hrs myself for the first time. At the very least I'll be looking forward to getting up at reasonable times for training rides.

Auckland-to-Hamilton: The Hard Way

http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/new-zealand/ponsonby/237143783170

And by "hard", am I referring to the fact that I biked it the long way - 170km in all - in preparation of the Lake Taupo Enduro (2 laps = 320km)? Is it the fact that I left at 5am to get some nighttime riding practice in? Am I referring to several showers I got caught in on the way down? Maybe the several freshly laid sections of chip seal that I had to ride over (one at least a couple of km long)? Or perhaps I am referring the attach of the magpie, who I just managed to because it's pre-dive squawk made me look up with enough time to duck as it zeroed in on my head? Could it also be when my back light came off after riding over a railway line, and subsequently just before I went to pick it up, some van drove straight over the top of it? Was it my aching shoulders and back? Or even worse, the welts on my backside from the stitching on my bike pants (despite having wearing the same bike pants on many occasions and never having a problem with them)?

No, it was none of those...

The main reason this ride was "hard" was because, despite living in a land that is supposedly dominated by winds of a north-westerly persuasion; and heading on a ride that will particularly benefit from such favourable climatic conditions; I had to spend most of the six and a half hours plowing straight into a bloody southerly! Not only is it physically tiring and slows you down (I could only just manage 20kph on some straights), but worst of all it drives you bloody bonkers. In the end I let Anna rescue me from my torment, picking me up 5km from my destination.

Of no relief was Stu's text telling me it was "character building". I'll be reminding his advise as I sit on his wheel as he plows into the wind coming off Mt Tongario at 4am on the morning of November 29!

Moonride - Rotorua

For some time Al here in Auckland has been trying to get me into mountain biking. Trying to sticking to my roadie routes, I had repelled his advances for some time. But recently I relented I bought myself a mountain bike a few weeks ago. This was all in aid of an event Al got me to join him in the 24hr Cateye Moonride. Not 24 hours of riding - I'm not that crazy (though there were some solo riders). No, we entered a team of 5 where you take turns doing the course over the 24 hours. Still crazy enough.

My introduction to mountain biking didn't start too well. My first ride out at Woodhill (a MTB park west of Auckland) saw me vault the handlebars and use my right ring finger to cushion my fall. The finger looked pretty grim for a few days, and even a month later now doesn't look quite right - I'll get around to having it x-rayed at some stage...

Crazy certainly came to mind as we drive down to Rotorua on the Friday, with seemingly half the farms submerged in water. And when we turned up at the site at 8pm that night to put the tent up, it was still raining and spirits were pretty low. But the event and other 100 teams all looked pretty well set up - tents, marques, coffee cart, generators, BBQs, though unfortunately no spa pool this year.

It all kicked off at 10pm and Al pulled the short straw in having to go first. However my turn wasn't too far away as I was going second. Because of the rain, the 8km loop had been reduced to 6.5km, but still took us on average 30 minutes to do each lap. We had already decided that we would each do 1 lap each, and then do turns of 2-lappers, so it wouldn't be as stop start and would give us each a chance to get some sleep (well, that was the plan anyway).

It wasn't long before I headed out for the my first lap, after a quick debrief from Al. I had only just gone for my first night ride the weekend before, so I was still a novice at this, and the track was very muddy and so made for a lot of hard work. Not least some pretty deep puddles, which turned the dirt after them into a quagmire. But with fresh clothes on and just one lap to do, that first lap wasn't so bad. Though returning back to the tent, it was only in the light that you realised how muddy it was - I was covered head to toe. But there wasn't much you could do about it, and no point trying to get too clean as you were just going to get muddy again.

My next trip out was at 1.30am and it was still raining. The track was more chewed up now too, so made for a much more difficult (and muddy) ride. Even more so by my battery for my light starting to run out on my 2nd lap - I may as well have held a candle out in front of me. That made for an interesting ride, often having to just cruise until someone caught up to me with better light and then having to try and sit on their heels. But I managed to make my way back without too much mishap and tried to get some sleep before I had to get up again at 6am for another two laps. But there wasn't any chance of sleep, what with the blood pumping from just finishing a ride, generators humming, and knowing I would have to get up again soon.

It was so muddy now that also had to hose down your bike before you headed out again, as all your gears and brakes were one big brown lump. Pulling on the cold, damp and muddy bike gears to head out again at 6am after no sleep, I was really wondering why the hell I had agreed to get into this. I mean, who holds an event like this in May - when there is no daylight savings and little prospect of good weather. The only relief I had was that now the skies were lightening and I didn't have to worry about light so much. But not surprisingly, these ended up being my slowest two laps.

The new day at least dawned dry, but 10am saw the start of the 12hr race with another 300 teams on the course (looking annoyingly refreshed and clean). This meant a lot more congestion, but also helped to flatten out the tracks. So much so that my two laps around 1pm I could actually term as fun. Riding in the light of day was obviously a lot easy, and it also allowed you to pick better lines to bike down (and showed you all your mistakes from the night before). But this was short lived, as by my last two laps at 6pm, all those riders had chewed up the course again and by now the body and soul were very tired.

With the ride still not finishing until 10pm, there was the prospect of squeezing another lap in. But I had had enough and I let the rest of the boys go for glory at the end (well, they have all been riding mountain bikes for years), while I enjoyed a few beers and some clean clothes. the finish gets a little crazy, some pushing it to fit in another lap, while others go a little crazy - with a couple of naked laps.

In the end we finished quite high up, completing 48 laps and coming 18th of the 97 24hr teams. Though the only reward was having to pack up the tent and all the gear when all we really wanted to do was go to bed. It certainly was an interesting event, though I am not sure I will be signing up to do it again (unless there is the promise of fine weather). This mountain biking can be fun though, and will be making a few trips down to Rotorua I think - though for rides most definitely in the day though!

A few muddy pics from the event here.

Rotorua-to-Taupo Anna Flyer

After plenty of badgering from me, and a lot of training from Anna, the big day finally arrived when Anna (and I) was competing in the 100K Flyer from Rotorua to Taupo. She has been putting in lots of training, and despite plenty of nerves and stress on her part, I knew she was ready.

We were staying down in Taupo, so that meant we had to drive up for the 10am race start in Rotorua. Despite some worrying forecasts earlier in the week, the day had dawned near perfect conditions - high cloud and hardly a breath of wind. We headed towards the rear of the 2000+ riders and slowly moved up through the waves of starters. We were finally off and Anna started off nice and strong. However, the cruel twist to the 100K Flyer is that it begins with a long steady climb out of Rotorua for the first 10km or so. Anna was finding this pretty tough (she always finds the first part of her rides tough, and the long delay between breakfast and actually starting the race probably didn't help either), but I knew once we had gotten through this climb it would be relatively easy. And the reward was a good long descent down the other side of the hill, and passing lots of riders that had gone past us up the hill.

The next 70km of the ride is then relatively flat, covering the rolling countryside of the Waikato. Anna really hit her straps and we were often averaging 30kph and having small groups drafting behind us. This was a very pleasant part of the ride and Anna was surprised about how quickly it went by. The only disturbing part was the amount of carnage on the road - I've never ridden past so many people being attended to on the side of the road or had so many Ambulances whiz by. It must have been at least four times that we rode past a rider or riders with strapping on cuts or arms in slings.

Fortunately there were no problem around us and it was pretty soon that Anna just had the last climb up into Taupo before the finish. She was pretty tired by now - which I would now say was probably partly because of dehydration, as I found out at the end she still had plenty of water left - but I reminded her that it was just this last climb. It isn't that hard of a climb, but after 90km it seems that it is (I should know, I had to do it twice in the Ironman), and me racing up it a couple of times to take photos probably didn't help. After a few 'false summits' and many "how much further Papa Smurf", we finally turned down into the last couple of (downhill) kms to the finish.

Speeding down the hill - picking up a few places, though I think more importantly to Anna, getting to the finish line so she could get off that bike seat - we finally reached the finish line in the time 3.46:17. That's an average speed of 26.5kph, which is much faster than Anna's usual average speed on her long training rides. So thoughts of being tired were quickly dispelled by feelings of achievement, and I was very proud of little Anna.

Tour de Kent

If you didn't know already, the Tour de France came to the UK this year, with the start of the race - the Prologue - being held in the London, and the first stage being a 203km ride from London to Canterbury in Kent. We all decided that it would be a good idea to watch the stage somewhere out in Kent - and for some of us, ride along part of the stage the day before. So avoiding the chaos that would have beset inner-city London with the prologue on the Saturday, six of us (myself, Jabs, Rich, Brad, Si & Tarns) met up early - OK, not that early - on Saturday morning to embark on our way along the route that the 'real' riders would be taking the next day.

Biking out towards Kent, we certainly saw some of the more 'interesting' parts of Eastern London, but the roads were good and the sun was out. In fact, the roads were pretty good on much of the route we took - we assumed they either picked the roads because of this or had smartened them up in the last year or so. And the sun being out was not being taken for granted, considering that the 'summer' in the UK has so far been pretty miserable (I had only on the Tuesday had to ride through a 'lake' that had previously been a road after a freak - but all too common - storm had passed over London). Passing outside the city limits of London, we hit some pretty enjoyable Kent countryside, passing through some nice looking towns and villages. The pick of the bunch was Rochester, where the first Sprint of the tour was staged, with the route going through narrow streets, including a cobble-stoned stretch with the impressive Rochester Castle on the right and the picturesque Rochester Cathedral on the left.

It was from Rochester that we turned south into the heart of Kent and some interesting mix of terrain. After a long stretch through winding lanes in the countryside, we suddenly followed the route onto a very fast two lane highway for a stretch. We were now getting on past midday, and with our pub lunch ahead of us at the 85km mark, we had something to aim for. It was with many tired legs, grumbling stomachs and thirsty lips that we finally rolled into West Peckham and the Swan on the Green brewpub. It was here that near disaster was only just avoided, as we found out that the kitchen was due to close in 15 minutes. Two courses were quickly ordered, along with a round of pints and jugs of water, and we took ourselves outside the pub overlooking the green - where, by chance, the village fete was being held. The food was good (the significant bread portions were most welcome), the beer was OK - with the Swan Cygnet easily being the pick of the bunch - and the chance to relax was welcome by all (both legs and from Rich's moaning about "hills" every time the road inclined by more than two metres).

Three pints later, we inevitably had to get back on the bike - some a little gingerly - and bike the remaining 40km (as it turned out) to meet up with the girls at our camp site. With energy levels restored though, everyone was in much better spirits and we made pretty good work of the remaining distance. And we finally got ourselves one of those "hills" - the first King of the Mountain stage of that year's tour actually (and where we went to watch the race the next day). In fact, it wasn't really that much of a hill, probably just 100 metres over a gradient of only 4% (not really comparable to Col d'Aubisque of 1800 metres and 10% fame that Jabs, Tarns and I did a couple of years back). From there it was a comfortable cruise down to our camp site and the end of a successful day's ride. (Special mention has to be made for Si who completed the whole 125km on his mountain bike. Watching him go up some of those inclines I was feeling the pain for him - Si having to do nearly 3 rotations to my 1 and having to push a bike probably three times as heavy as mine. It really was a great effort.)

Arriving at our camp site it was good to have a hot shower and a change of clothes. But there was something missing - the girls! Word had it that after putting up (some of) the tents and dropping the gear off, they had walked down to a local country pub and set themselves up there. Girls x no sun cream x wine = very drunk and very sunburnt girls. As we found out after a couple of phone calls - well one half was a phone call, the other half wavered between slurring and giggling. Fortunately we had had the foresight to book ourselves in for dinner at another country pub nearby and we agreed to meet them there. Unfortunately, the walk didn't seem to do them any good as they were still a pack of giggling Gertruds' by the time we caught up with them and I don't think we were the most welcome patrons at the pub that night (though this was all in form for the girls, as apparently they had been scaring away the customers from their pub all day). But an enjoyable night we had, and the bikers even found the legs for some late night country lane rambling after dinner.

Waking up in the morning to the scourge of all campers - dew, but also glorious sunshine, we quickly packed everything up and headed out to our point to watch the Tour go past. While the girls manage to get a lift from the crazy owner of our camp site, we bikers put the legs back over the bike and cycled the 20km or to our meeting point - dodging road closures and policeman trying to tell us that we should be pushing our bikes (as if). We all arrived just in time to catch the caravan of sponsors and all the waving back and forth. Though it seemed that the French sponsors weren't so willing to give away as many of the goodies in the UK and the waving proved pretty useless. Some good crowds had turned out to watch the stage - this had been a feature of both days in the UK and apparently organisers are keen for the Tour to return to London soon. The riders finally came through around 1pm, making light work of such a small climb. A bunch of 5 riders had a 5 minute break on the rest of the Peloton and an English rider actually took the King of the Mountain points on the hill (and the jersey at the end of the day). The sight of the 180-strong Peloton cruising past was pretty cool, but as is the case with being a spectator along the Tour - it was all over as quickly as it begun. But there is no substitute for seeing these supreme athletes up close and personal, and for us bike geeks, checking out their gear.

The final chapter (if you've got this far) of our weekend away was the train ride back into London. In the spirit of the Tour, in a way that only a British Train Company could engineer, they had in all their wisdom decided that no bikes could be taking on their trains that day - on a day when plenty of people were riding along the stage and would be wanting to get back to London! However, we were able to call their bluff when the girls - who had jumped on a train rather than wait with us until later that day - rang us up and informed us that their train was nearly empty. Armed with this knowledge and the motivation to find at least one train guard with more common sense than the need for an ego trip, we finally prevailed and comfortably boarded the next train to London. All in all, a good weekend had out in the sun.

Plenty more pics from the weekend away here.

BBBB Tour

Boys, Belgium, Bikes and Beer - you can't ask for better ingredients for a short weekend away.

On Friday night, the boys boarded the Eurostar to Brussels, bikes in tow, for a last boys weekend away before Brad and I leave in August. Joining Brad and I were Rich, Jabs and Si - unfortunately Todd had to give a rain-check (literally, as he was off to play in the mud at Glastonbury). At Brussels it was just a matter of a quick change of trains and up we went to the gothic city of Ghent. Jumping on our bikes at the station (and remembering that we had to ride on the 'right' side of the road), we made the simple ride to our hotel for the night. That is 'simple', as in stop a few times to scratch our heads and wonder where we are and ask four different locals for directions (who surprisingly, didn't seem to know where they were either!). In fact, it was somewhat by chance, when trying to decipher some very confusing Flemish directions from a group of school girls, that we saw that our Eden ('Hotel Eden' that is) was just on the other side of the intersection.
It was getting late, so with no mucking around, we quickly locked up the bikes, drew cards to see who didn't have to listen to Rich's snoring all night and headed out to get a few beery delights. I should add here, that walking through the city, it was very picturesque, with lots of towering Gothic architecture, canals, large squares - and plenty of Belgian bars. First stop was the cool little bar Aba-Jour, which the 'bible' (Tim Webb's 'Belgium Good Beer Guide') recommended for food and, of course, beer. To set the taste buds tingling for the rest of the night I started with a Lambic, ordering the Cantillon Gueuze, Si joining me with the Cantillon Kriek. But the rest of the boys were scared off by warnings from our waiter (they are very sour) and opted for the still very good Chouffe. We ordered Belgian stews all round and had, of course, plenty of chips. With it being a nice night we decided to move on and try to find a bar where we could sit outside and enjoy the evening. (Little did I know how I would regret this. Aba-Jour had the one beer above all others I wanted to try - the Westvleteren 12 - considered the best beer in the world and the highest rated on ratebeer.com. It was on their menu, for the not so small sum of €11, but I thought I would probably see it somewhere again and preferably as an end of the nigh tipple. I never did see it again....)

After a bit of wandering around, we found ourselves at the Waterhuis bar, apparently "a Ghent institution", with a good little spot at a table canal-side. The service was a little slow, which isn't necessary a bad thing when the beers are 9%, and the waitress was a rare find - one that wasn't hard to look at (well, it was a boys trip after all). In fact, with a decent beer list, we ended up staying there until closing time, indulging in the perfect boy's trip treat - late night meaty snacks. Mindful of the fact that we were due to jump on our bikes in a few hours time, we sauntered back through the city to our hotel in the early hours of the morning.

Waking up the next morning there was a clamour to get our heads out the window, partly to get some fresh air, but also to make a nervous assessment of the weather - the forecast had predicted rain for the weekend. At this stage, both were pleasing to the senses. After stocking up on the usual European breakfast and waiting for Brad to do his hair, we slipped into the lycra and headed out on the bikes. Once again, having a whole map of Belgium printed onto an A3 bit of paper proved to be pretty useless when trying to navigate our way around the streets of Ghent, but when we eventually asked for directions, once again we happened to be right where we wanting to be.

Our route from Ghent to Brugge was along the Ghent-Brugge canal, a ride of about 50-odd kms. Those Europeans certainly know how to treat their cyclists, with the canal having 3-metre wide paved bike lanes on both sides pretty much the whole way, even cutting into the countryside from time to time - impressive stuff. Of course, it was only about 5 minutes along the canal when what we had all been dreading finally arrived - the rain. So on went the wet weather gear, but onwards we went. In fact the rain wasn't too bad - though there were a couple of instances when it was a fair deluge and it was a surprise not to see Noah himself cruising down the canal. But when you are soaked through, there is not much you can do - and it actually became enjoyable, man battling the elements.

And for much as there were periods of rain, there were dry periods, sometimes even sunny, and riding along you dry up pretty quickly. During one such dry spell, we happened past a small bar canal-side. Deciding to enjoy the moment, we took up the seats outside and ordered ourselves a round of Palm Specials at the crazy price of €1.20 each. Of course, this was one act of defiance too many for the weather gods, and we were promptly sent packing indoors to the bar - which was pretty much the front room of their house - and a second round of beers (there's a silver lining to every cloud, even one that is raining).

With some horrible attempts at Flemish goodbyes, to the humour of the locals (read "local"), we headed back out into the rain in pursuit of another bar further along that I had picked out for lunch. Once again we found ourselves a little locationally challenged, but sheltering in the bus stop from another Noah-inspiring deluge, we managed to prise out some directions from a fellow rain-avoider in exchange for a couple of Minstrels. With rumbling tummies and wet everything, we parked up outside the 'Seventh Heaven' bar in the small village of Beernem (with a name like that, it was obviously meant to be) and headed in. I'm not sure what the women running the bar thought of us bedraggled lot, especially as the only other people in the bar seemed be Octogenarians in their Sunday bests. Nevertheless, she was friendly enough and we quickly ordered some drinks and food (well, as quick as you can when we had to have her show us that "Brood" ont he menu was bread). This was a great little place, done up really nice with an impressive beer list, and even more impressively, one lady behind the bar who was barwoman, waitress, and chef. And she did a fine job of it all as well, with the grilled beef ribs being the perfect boys weekend lunch.

With 15-odd kms still to go to Brugge, we reluctantly left 'Seventh Heaven', though made all the more easy by the glorious sunshine that had now come out. With 3 more good beers and a great lunch in the belly, off we cycled along the canal again. Of course, as these things tend to go, we didn't get far. Just a couple of kms along we came across another bar, ominously called the 'Half Moon' (there is a pub by the same name on my road in Putney), and a democratic decision was quickly made to have just one more. For once, showing some constraint, we did just have that one, and enjoyed the last 10kms in the sun into Brugge, and not surprisingly after all the beers over the day, with much merriment.

After quickly finding our hotel for the night (true this time), we all spruced ourselves up with a shower and converted our rooms into a Chinese laundry. Having not had a beer for all of an hour, our target was what is quoted by some as the 'best bar in the world' - Brugs Beertje. With a huge beer list and good mix of tourists and locals inside, it lived up to its reputation (for more, see the Pub Watch post). In fact, it was so good we went twice! After our first spell at Brugs Beertje, we went off in search of the one thing that must be part of every boys weekend - steaks! After doing a circuit of Brugge, we ended up going to the restaurant across the street from Brugs Beertje, which served us up some big steaks with peppercorn sauce - perfect. As mentioned, once we finished up dinner, we decided that Brugs Beertje was so good that there was no need to check out any other bars, and back we went across the road. Plenty of brilliant beers later, we reluctantly took our leave of the lock-in, some of us in better shape than others.

Sunday started with a few sore heads and blurry eyes and it was a bit of a slow start by all. There was the odd spot of rain outside and plenty of fluffing about inside. Eventually we agreed to go out for a shortish ride for lunch and get back for our train to Brussels around 3pm. After a cruise around Brugge we headed out along a picturesque tree-lined canal, our minds and bodies better for the fresh air. Only about 10km outside of Brugge we came up to the attractive town of Damme, decided to stop for a drink....and didn't end up going any further. Though, this was entirely our fault as the pizza's we ordered took over an hour and half. They were good, but not that good - I think there must be an inverse relationship between the service you get and the amount of sweaty lycra you are wearing.

With time up, we had to cycle back to the Brugge train station and took the trip back to Brussels to drop our bikes off in time to get on our Eurostar back to London. This gave us just enough time to fit in - you guessed it - one more beer. It was with much regret that we had to leave, as soon as the Eurostar left the platform I wanted to turn around and go back. It may be a while until I get back to Belgium again, but I definitely will be returning.

Epilogue: Arriving back into London, there was just one final leg of the boys weekend left. This was a quick cycle around to Si's where Kellie had recorded the All Black-South Africa game for us from the day before, accompanied by the last thing that would make a boys weekend complete - curry!

Click here for more pics.

Down he goes!

It finally happened - I've finally had an accident on my bike. Riding home tonight I was charging along the bike lane in the middle of the city with a good easterly behind me. Traffic was at a stand-still and I was going along the inside of a bus, when suddenly....

Some guy steps out from in front of the bus (he must have been crossing the road through the traffic). Traveling at 35-40kph and with about 3 metres to react, reactions kicked in and I hit the brakes and took my foot out of the pedal and pushed it into the road. I even managed to swerve around him. But he was also swinging a bag as he walked and I took that bag right in the dial. From there my balance was gone as I careered into the gutter where at some stage I fell over and finally stopped when my bike struck a pole.

Admittedly, my first thought as I was sitting there was - "I hope my bike is alright". The guy who had stepped out came up asking me if I was OK and was very apologetic. There was no point having a go at him as we all cross the road like that from time to time, so I let him know I was OK and told him not to worry. I certainly didn't feel like I had been hurt and a quick once over of the bike told me that miraculously it also seemed it had escaped unscathed. He then told me I had blood coming out from a cut on my nose, which I later worked out was when his bag had hit my glasses, which had then punctured my nose. Dusting myself off and settling the nerves, I had no other choice but to get back on the bike and ride the remaining 12kms or so home. Patting each other on the back and shaking hands, I left my recently made acquaintance and took off again on the bike, although a little more slowly and with one hand pressing a dirty bike rag against my bleeding snoze.

Amazingly, I cannot detect any damage to my bike, except for a few scratches on the tyre rims, and apart from the cut on my nose, I don't seem to have any other scrap on my body. All I can suppose is that I was able to keep my bike and body from scrapping along the ground with my foot and had slowed down enough before I hit that pole. So I am considering myself pretty lucky. Though it is quite ironic that for all my running of red lights and swerving through traffic, the first fall off my bike was not my fault. Lets hope it is a long time until my next one!

On Ya Bike: The Peak District

With everyone away for the Bank long weekend, Jabs, Tarns and I came up with a good way to amuse ourselves on Bank Holiday Monday. Having not been on a decent bike ride since France last year, we were keen to get out of London and clock up some serious miles - a good but of climbing wouldn't go amiss either. After a bit of searching the on the internet I found what looked like an interesting ride up in the Peak District.

Some on the Monday morning we jumped on to our bikes and rode to Kings Cross to catch our morning train up to Chesterfield, which is just east of the Peak District. This of course nicely increased the length of our ride so that we could raise the bat - taking the distance from 62km loop to 110kms all up - and the total climbing to somewhere in the vicinity of 1300 metres. Arriving in Chesterfield we keenly jumped on our bikes and headed out of Chesterfield.

I quickly made friends with locals on our short trip out of town. Riding a little out from the side of the road because of debris, I got a couple of short blasts of a horn as some idiot went by me with plenty of room to pass. As luck would have it, he pulled over just 200 metres up the road and as he was getting out of the car I rode past him and mumbled something to me. I kindly let him know that "there was plenty of room back there, mate", of which his reply as I rode off was "(mumble, mumble), you little prick". Friendly fella!

So with the cheerful Chesterfield locals behind us, we got into the impressive countryside and started some serious riding. The weather wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worse either. There was the odd shower which departed as quick as it arrived, though that was because of the quite significant Northwester wind we had to toil into for the first half of the ride. But we didn't mind, he was just great to be out and riding without having to stop at lights every kilometre.

The first hour or so of the ride was pretty uneventful, with plenty of rolling hills to keep the legs working and plenty of stunning views to keep the eyes amused. Dropping into Hope Valley we had our sites set on Castleton for some good pub grub to refuel the body. Though not before we came across what we did not expect to see - a traffic jam. The cars were backed up for about 2kms and we were starting to wonder whether we would have to put up with this the whole ride. But then we came across the cause of the commotion, the Hope Show - Hope being the local town. Resisting the urge to join the locals for the agricultural show and sheepdog trials, we were in fact glad to be past the cars and back up to a good speed. And even better, lunch was just around the corner.

Pulling into Castleton we spied Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese and thought that looked a good spot for lunch. Stepping into the pub, I kindly asked the rustic bar tender whether there was anywhere we could put I bikes while we had lunch. Replying with a grasp of english that told of some mis-spent school years "I don't think we could put them anywhere here". Looking around at all the space in the pub, I shrugged my shoulders and considered that maybe we had had a lucky escape. Two doors up was The Peaks Inn, were young lady behind the bar said no worries and showed us where we could leave our bikes out back. The pub certainly looked pretty popular and stayed that way despite a trio of smelly cyclists. Ordering the chili con carne with a side of spicy cheesy chips, Jabs and I also indulged in a pint of Black Sheep Bitter. Of course, what we hadn't seen before we ordered was the sign saying "We might not cook your food quickly, but we will make it tasty". And mindful of the fact that we did have a train to get back for, we did have to wait a while for the food. But it was certainly tasty and it didn't take 3 hungry riders long to tuck away their lunch.

Lunch over and we were back on the saddle and taking a wrong turn. Fortunately it only cost us 10 minutes or so, though most of that was uphill. Knowing what I did 15 minutes later, I wish that wrong turn had lead somewhere else. The direction we were suppose to take was through Speedwell Cavern up to Winnats Pass - that's that very steep climb in the profile map above. But it wasn't the steepness that was so much the problem, but the funneling of the wind coming through the thin gorge - and those spicy cheesy chips weren't helping either. Halfway up we were reduced to just being able to rotate the pedals every 2 seconds or so and the wind was just about blowing us off our bikes. So, we had to do the unthinkable and dismount and push our bikes up the rest of the gorge. Nothing a biker ever likes to do (it is not comfortable in the cleats for a start), but there was no other way we could have got safely up that gorge.



Happy to be riding again, we were off again and now very much looking forward to turning around and having the wind behind us. That finally happened after we got to Glossop and what a relief it was - it made quite a difference to our average speed as well. Just after Glossop we hit what was probably the best bit of the ride, and climb up and descent from Snake Pass. The ascent was all up a new piece of smooth road and the gradient was consistent all the way up, and with that wind now behind us you could get into a great rhythm. After the climbs into the wind, this was a joy. And the reward, the descent that lasted 20kms and only required a rotation of the pedals every now and then - and much appreciated rest after that slogging into the wind. We were no on the homeward stretch, though the bodies were now starting to feel the effects of a long hard ride. With only one hard climb left though, we steeled our muscles and headed for home.

In the end, despite some concerns a little earlier in the day, we cruised into the train station with 20 minutes to spare before our 6.40pm departure. The bodies were definitely weary, but there were smiles all round after such a good ride. Of course those smiles doubled on the train journey home when I pulled out my special stash of peanut slabs that I had brought along for a reward. Though we might have been the only people smiling on that carriage, sitting there in our smelly sweaty bike gears!

The 2 hours return trip to London was more than long enough for us to start dreading the ride home from the station. Though surprisingly, we hadn't seized up as much as we thought our the gentle cruise home was nearly enjoyable. With the ride to Kings Cross and back, that took the clock up to 144kms for the day - a distance I have only beaten on the Round Lake Taupo rides. Getting home though, I was very happy to have a shower and tuck into the leftover lentil curry from the night before. And boy did I sleep well that night!









For some more pics, click here.

On Ya Bike - Richmond Park & Richmond Hill

Hopefully this will be the first of many posts about bike rides this summer, and where better to start than the old favourite....

Richmond Park is the largest open space in all of London with plenty of deer and great views back to the city and further out to the South West of London. It also has a great 12km ring road which is well paved and where bikes rule just as much as cars. Also fortunate is that Putney is only 3km from the Park, so has become our usual jaunt for a quick ride.

The ride typically starts with a pick up of my usual partner in crime in any ride - Jabs - though sometimes we manage to pull along a few others. Usually it is only for a lap or two, depending on whether we get waylaid by the decision to stop off for a pint (which obviously curtails the appetite for more laps). The Park really is a great place to ride, you don't have to bike miles to get the feeling of being outside of the city. The drivers are always (well, normally) respectful of riders, and there is always the roaming deer or the views to keep you occupied. Here is a montage of photos of the Park and some of the views.




I mentioned the pints and I think an explanation is required for this distraction.
This is because the distraction is none other than Richmond Hill, which is just outside one of the gates to Richmond Park. On top of the hill is this great little Terrace, where on the other side of the road is, of course, a great little pub - The Roebuck. The CAMRA-listed Roebuck always has a couple of well-kept guest ales on handpump, and where better to drink them with the World Heritage view of Petersham Meadows and the Thames. Is becoming one of my favourite spots.