AD out today and he'd expressed an unhealthy interest in learning to love mud riding. Well now, that's out of his character but very much mine. I find a healthy dose of early summer mud riding improves your legs very quickly for when the trails dry out. Short distance, hard graft. Only AD didn't quite believe me when I said that it'd be a hard ride. He thought I was being a puff and gave me "that look" that mates do when they are mentally diss'ing you.
Having been out last week I expected the ride to be tough, so consequently I didn't plan to go far; Headley basically, although I did throw a cheaky loop around the Heath, so we could easily have done the Boxhill run. Last week I explained that the route was wet but not too muddy. This week I expected the same, but no, it was just mud. Thin, runny mud? Yes. Thick, gloppy mud? Yes. Deep, watery mud? Yes. Deep, watery, full of rotting leaves mud? Oh yes. Mud full of horse poo? Well, now that you come to mention it, yes to that too.
My transmission was trashed by ten km, AD's brakes were graunchy from around 12km. We were covered in gloop.
At the Headley cafe the woman helper offered to hose us down. Well, there's an offer. Must say the heated bread pudding is a cracker. Bring it on.
For the most part I could hardly see where I was going, as my glasses were covered in goo, and my eyes full of grit. The mud in parts was so thick, so long lasting that we had to come up with varied and amusing strategies for getting through it. We tried them all; slow cadence plodding; slam into it at speed, or bouncing up and down on the saddle. All line choices, hit the deep bits or skim to the sides.
AD was a bit off form today for some reason. Normally he razzes me on every climb, on every muddy bit. Not today. Today age had the legs and I seized the opportunity to make him look slow. You have to don't you? I don't get such chances very often, so even if it meant spitting out bits of bloody lung tissue, I went for it. It was amusing on one climb to hear him calling out "fuckitthebastard" as he dropped a bit behind.
Colley Hill was odd. Some dog [appropriately a Collie] decided to run around and through us. It was with us for some time with no obvious owner. AD was his usual polite self, which was amusing as I learnt some new swear words. The dog couldn't give a toss, even though at one point I actually rode over a hind leg. Why do owners do that? Not the dog's fault it has a fuckwit owner.
Of course the longer you are out, the faster you get and the more confident the riding. Towards the end, crossing the newly refurbished concrete bridge over the A217 I thought I was going slow. Crossed the bridge, some walkers ahead and I had to brake a little prior to calling out to them. I braked as I hit the new Tarmac section, and as I did I had that horrid sensation of the front locking up. I tried to correct by switching braking to the rear and moving my arse backwards, but too late, down I went. But for me it was all in slo-mo and I consciously steered to avoid the concrete horse steps. AD had the hospital on speed dial by now, but somehow I managed to avoid the concrete lump and just slid down the path.
Top warning to you: the bit of new tarmac coming off the A217 bridleway bridge is like ice. Be careful people.
All's well but now instead of just having a painful left arm from my fall a month ago, my right has joined in on the game too. Bastard. I think AD expected me to be all grumpy and hurt, but it wasn't that bad a fall. More a slide. Possibly looked worse than it was. It certainly didn't spoil the ride, and Reigate Hill was dispatched pretty quickly, if not slightly recklessly. Indeed at the time I was more worried about damaging my new £40 Gore gloves. They were fine. Quite possibly after two heavy falls my carbon bars may need replacing, but they were £120 so that ain't gonna happen.
Saw my riding neighbour out, and said hello but he still hates me for calling him an egg. He did that thing where he was in deep study of the leaves on a tree, so pretended not to see me. I find that funny so it made me laugh, probably not improving relations.
Another cracking ride.
Having been out last week I expected the ride to be tough, so consequently I didn't plan to go far; Headley basically, although I did throw a cheaky loop around the Heath, so we could easily have done the Boxhill run. Last week I explained that the route was wet but not too muddy. This week I expected the same, but no, it was just mud. Thin, runny mud? Yes. Thick, gloppy mud? Yes. Deep, watery mud? Yes. Deep, watery, full of rotting leaves mud? Oh yes. Mud full of horse poo? Well, now that you come to mention it, yes to that too.
My transmission was trashed by ten km, AD's brakes were graunchy from around 12km. We were covered in gloop.
At the Headley cafe the woman helper offered to hose us down. Well, there's an offer. Must say the heated bread pudding is a cracker. Bring it on.
For the most part I could hardly see where I was going, as my glasses were covered in goo, and my eyes full of grit. The mud in parts was so thick, so long lasting that we had to come up with varied and amusing strategies for getting through it. We tried them all; slow cadence plodding; slam into it at speed, or bouncing up and down on the saddle. All line choices, hit the deep bits or skim to the sides.
AD was a bit off form today for some reason. Normally he razzes me on every climb, on every muddy bit. Not today. Today age had the legs and I seized the opportunity to make him look slow. You have to don't you? I don't get such chances very often, so even if it meant spitting out bits of bloody lung tissue, I went for it. It was amusing on one climb to hear him calling out "fuckitthebastard" as he dropped a bit behind.
Colley Hill was odd. Some dog [appropriately a Collie] decided to run around and through us. It was with us for some time with no obvious owner. AD was his usual polite self, which was amusing as I learnt some new swear words. The dog couldn't give a toss, even though at one point I actually rode over a hind leg. Why do owners do that? Not the dog's fault it has a fuckwit owner.
Of course the longer you are out, the faster you get and the more confident the riding. Towards the end, crossing the newly refurbished concrete bridge over the A217 I thought I was going slow. Crossed the bridge, some walkers ahead and I had to brake a little prior to calling out to them. I braked as I hit the new Tarmac section, and as I did I had that horrid sensation of the front locking up. I tried to correct by switching braking to the rear and moving my arse backwards, but too late, down I went. But for me it was all in slo-mo and I consciously steered to avoid the concrete horse steps. AD had the hospital on speed dial by now, but somehow I managed to avoid the concrete lump and just slid down the path.
Top warning to you: the bit of new tarmac coming off the A217 bridleway bridge is like ice. Be careful people.
All's well but now instead of just having a painful left arm from my fall a month ago, my right has joined in on the game too. Bastard. I think AD expected me to be all grumpy and hurt, but it wasn't that bad a fall. More a slide. Possibly looked worse than it was. It certainly didn't spoil the ride, and Reigate Hill was dispatched pretty quickly, if not slightly recklessly. Indeed at the time I was more worried about damaging my new £40 Gore gloves. They were fine. Quite possibly after two heavy falls my carbon bars may need replacing, but they were £120 so that ain't gonna happen.
Saw my riding neighbour out, and said hello but he still hates me for calling him an egg. He did that thing where he was in deep study of the leaves on a tree, so pretended not to see me. I find that funny so it made me laugh, probably not improving relations.
Another cracking ride.
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