Holidays part one
Jun. 17th, 2008 09:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
andygatesAn eventful start to the hols! First down to London for an overnight camp-out ride. Great company, hilarious camping in the theme of a zombie apocalypse bug-out. My roadkill cuisine wasn't as good as before, but the fire was excellent and we got to play slingshot Pinata of the Living Dead.
Regrettably our perimeter security was made of glittering mithril fail. The undead made it in, tagged most of us, and then unloaded a trailer full of beer before fighting over the roadkill...
The heavy trailer full of three-day all-season all-situations zombocalypse survival gear that I was hauling (as a test of just how much a chap can sensibly haul) eventually caused some bearing problems with my old wheel and left me knackered. Lesson learned: next time, I'm camping out with a Tyvek hanky and a titanium spork and nothing else. Well, apart from the machete. I don't fancy cutting turfs with a penknife ;)
Dave - the Cannondale Badboy - made his 15,000th mile while out hauling. Here he is, posing with luggage under the statue of Achilles in Hyde Park:
Back to London and after nearly joining the World Naked Bike Ride (my train was leaving) but enjoying the company of naked hippies for a while, it was a weary munky who rocked up to Channings in Bristol and the start of the Exmouth Exodus. Trailer dumped, beer acquired, and some emergency repairs to that bearing. Look who I persuaded to come along for the giggle!
This bicycle stuff is contagious, you know. You have been warned.
Off we headed into the night, buzzed by bats and some really good views... and I get to feel a right wally, because as soon as we hit the first proper climb - Burrington Combe - my legs just fell out from under me. Mood crashed, weak as a kitten, staring at the road in front of me. Yup, it's a bonk. Big one, too, the sort that energy gels and quasi-legal stimulants won't budge - I figure the heavy riding and minimal recovery just left me with no damn glycogen available. The camping frolics did run into the wee hours and travel is rarely refreshing. So after a temper tantrum that I'm really embarassed about, we limped to the first tea-stop,ehutch (fresh as a daisy after being carb-loaded by gavage) was run home, and I took refuge in my van (which was on loan as the Mobile Lobster Café).
The rest of the ride, viewed through the blurry and bleary perceptions of Stinky McBonkerssen, looked bloody gorgeous. Le sigh.
And now? Off to Scotland to seeravenbait and Frood and the rest of that rabble, walk the chain walk, engage in shenanigans, and make our second assault on the Dumb Run. Dumbarton to St Andrews overnight, 112 miles or so. Last year spectacularly bad weather nobbled us at Kirkcaldy; that makes this year's assault on the Home of the Best Way To Ruin A Good Walk a serious case of Unfinished Business. Adequate rest, sleep, carb loading and respect for the ride shall be forthcoming, fear not.
Regrettably our perimeter security was made of glittering mithril fail. The undead made it in, tagged most of us, and then unloaded a trailer full of beer before fighting over the roadkill...
The heavy trailer full of three-day all-season all-situations zombocalypse survival gear that I was hauling (as a test of just how much a chap can sensibly haul) eventually caused some bearing problems with my old wheel and left me knackered. Lesson learned: next time, I'm camping out with a Tyvek hanky and a titanium spork and nothing else. Well, apart from the machete. I don't fancy cutting turfs with a penknife ;)
Dave - the Cannondale Badboy - made his 15,000th mile while out hauling. Here he is, posing with luggage under the statue of Achilles in Hyde Park:
Back to London and after nearly joining the World Naked Bike Ride (my train was leaving) but enjoying the company of naked hippies for a while, it was a weary munky who rocked up to Channings in Bristol and the start of the Exmouth Exodus. Trailer dumped, beer acquired, and some emergency repairs to that bearing. Look who I persuaded to come along for the giggle!
This bicycle stuff is contagious, you know. You have been warned.
Off we headed into the night, buzzed by bats and some really good views... and I get to feel a right wally, because as soon as we hit the first proper climb - Burrington Combe - my legs just fell out from under me. Mood crashed, weak as a kitten, staring at the road in front of me. Yup, it's a bonk. Big one, too, the sort that energy gels and quasi-legal stimulants won't budge - I figure the heavy riding and minimal recovery just left me with no damn glycogen available. The camping frolics did run into the wee hours and travel is rarely refreshing. So after a temper tantrum that I'm really embarassed about, we limped to the first tea-stop,
ehutch (fresh as a daisy after being carb-loaded by gavage) was run home, and I took refuge in my van (which was on loan as the Mobile Lobster Café). The rest of the ride, viewed through the blurry and bleary perceptions of Stinky McBonkerssen, looked bloody gorgeous. Le sigh.
And now? Off to Scotland to see
ravenbait and Frood and the rest of that rabble, walk the chain walk, engage in shenanigans, and make our second assault on the Dumb Run. Dumbarton to St Andrews overnight, 112 miles or so. Last year spectacularly bad weather nobbled us at Kirkcaldy; that makes this year's assault on the Home of the Best Way To Ruin A Good Walk a serious case of Unfinished Business. Adequate rest, sleep, carb loading and respect for the ride shall be forthcoming, fear not.
