Before I start a ride I have a little routine I go through: checking my tyre pressures, pushing my bidons into the bottle cages, putting the essentials (phone, money, camera, gels, etc.) into my jersey pockets, donning my helmet and so forth. The last thing I do is mount and switch on my Garmin. Now, I’ve been having some issues with the battery life on the Garmin which seemed to expire after about six to seven hours’ riding (it’s supposed to be good for 15 hours’ use). On the drive up here I’d been telling Nairo that I’d got it all sorted, as I had eventually worked out that having the backlighting and Bluetooth permanently turned on had been the cause of the trouble. Once the penny had dropped, my battery life had shot up. Gone were the days when I’d have to worry about losing all my data at the end of a century ride. And the bonus was that I could use the inbuilt navigation without any fear of the battery dying mid-ride. I was feeling quite smug about this, which Nairo picked up on, and was almost too polite to point out that I should have read the user manual in the first place.
Having clipped the Garmin into its mount on the front of my Infinito’s handlebars the last act of my pre-ride routine was to press the on switch of the Garmin. Result: nothing. Not a peep from the Garmin. It was completely dead. I was confident that I had fully recharged it after my last ride, so began to wonder if it was destined for the Garmin cemetery, wherever that is. Nothing I did could bring it to life. I became resigned to riding without the Garmin. All this meant that I would have to keep up with Nairo for the whole ride, and borrow his data when we finished. Nairo is a rather faster rider than me ‒ a petrol engine to my diesel motor ‒ so I knew I was in for a serious workout when he set the pace.
We eventually rode off after my faffing around, and for the first few miles I was not a happy rider. I found the absence of any information on speed, cadence, heart rate, and so on, a bit unsettling. And as the wind was blowing strongly (around 18 mph with significantly stronger gusts) I was concerned about pacing my efforts. The added lack of a map also meant that I felt quite disorientated in terms of our progress and location. The coast road was quite busy so I couldn’t ride alongside Nairo and sneak a look at his screen.
No matter, we made good progress with Nairo pushing on quite hard and me hanging on the back. The winds were coming at us sideways which meant that we had to keep a good grip on the handlebars to avoid being blown over when we rode past gateways and gaps in the hedges. We were through Blakeney, Stiffkey (pronounced Stookey) and Wells quite soon, and paused at Brancaster so I could get a photo of a rather fine old AA phone box. At the stop I gave the Garmin another nudge and, would you believe it, it sprang into life. The two downsides were that I had been robbed of about 30 miles’ riding, and the battery life was showing only 35 per cent. It rather looks like I hadn’t recharged it after all. Doh! So much for my earlier smugness. My late mother, who like me was born in Trinidad, was fond of using a Creole expression for situations like this: ‘Mark, you’ll put goat mouth on it if you say things like that.’ So, memo to myself: in future be careful about what I say when I think I’ve ‘fixed’ something.
Leaving Brancaster us behind we carried on to Hunstanton where we stopped at a café for a drink and a slice of rather tasty apple cake. A passer-by let slip that the café was soon closing, so we’d better make the most of it while we could. Feeling suitably recharged we turned southwards, and directly into the teeth of a gale as the wind speed had now increased significantly while we took time out in Hunstanton. But coming from the south, at least it was a warm wind.
Passing through Heacham we turned east for what we thought was likely to be a tough slog back to Cromer. And we weren’t wrong! Added to this were a few stretches on busy major roads which made the riding less than enjoyable. But it wasn’t all doom and gloom; we did have a few quieter and more scenic stretches including passing through Little Walsingham with its famous shrines in honour of the Virgin Mary. The village is often referred to as England’s Nazareth, and pilgrims have been coming here since the eleventh century. Today seemed to be very busy with a steady flow of people who had come to visit and seek spiritual comfort.
Great Walsingham, just up the road, is a delightful village with some spectacularly halftimbered buildings. Unfortunately, time did not allow us to have a look around as we still had about 40 miles to ride back to Cromer, with the prospect of about 20 miles into the strong wind. As it turned out, the ride wasn’t as tough as we had feared and we made good time to Aylsham before turning north for the final leg back to Cromer. This last stretch was pure bliss. With a tailwind we cranked the speed up and were soon riding at 20 to 25 relatively effortless miles per hour. What bliss. The only downside was that with about 5 miles to go my Garmin’s battery finally ran out. With a small kick-up at the end we were soon back in Cromer, enjoying a welcome ice cream and posing for a photo with Cromer Pier in the background.
Wednesday 28 September 2016, 103 Miles
A Trundle Round South Suffolk (C#46)
Writing about last Saturday’s ride I commented that Daren (Nairo) Morgan seems to be acquiring a taste for these century rides. He denies this, quite emphatically. It was something of a surprise to get a text from him yesterday: ‘Now that I’ve fully recovered and ready to look at my bike again I wondered if you were planning any rides this week?’ So I replied, ‘I’m thinking of another century ride on Weds but haven’t decided where yet, maybe south Suffolk. Are your legs twitching?’ Well, that was all encouragement he needed. And I think I’m right about him acquiring a taste for century riding, but perhaps he’s not quite ready to announce it yet to the world at large.
On what would best be described as a bonus day weather-wise, in other words bright warm sunshine, we met at my house and set off on a tour round south Suffolk with bits of Cambridgeshire and Essex thrown in for good measure. Rather than ride a specific century route, I had joined together sections from three of my favourite rides which I hoped would give us an enjoyable and varied riding experience.
We initially headed west towards Newmarket before turning back eastwards for Clare, Long Melford and Sudbury. From there we headed south to Boxford and then turned north to Hadleigh and Needham Market and finally headed north-west back home. It turned out to be a very enjoyable outing, marred only by that infernally strong wind and, in my case, a mechanical. I had changed my gear cassette to give me a slightly lower range of gears but unfortunately the cassette didn’t seem to want to mesh with the chain and kept slipping, despite making some adjustments along the way. I’m going to have to revert to the higher-geared cassette while I figure out what the problem is. But on a positive note, today my Garmin behaved exactly as it should do, unlike Saturday’s experience.
We had decided in advance to have our lunch stop at the attractive village of Boxford where I had previously spotted a promising café. Boxford is a very pretty village with a mixture of traditional half-timbered and clay lump buildings. The River Box (surprise, surprise) runs through the village, which has two grocers’ shops – Boxford Stores and the Village Stores – almost directly opposite each other. There’s also a butcher’s and, somewhat surprisingly for such a small rural village, Carmen’s Designer Shoe Boutique. The boutique is next door to the Coffee Box, which was the café destination.
When we arrived at the Coffee Box it seemed to be doing a good trade. Nairo asked if we could get a sandwich and was told that we could have whatever we wanted as they made them up to order. Nairo chose a chicken, bacon and avocado number whilst I opted for tuna mayo with red onions on wholegrain. As it was such a lovely sunny day we sat outside whilst our order was prepared. During a somewhat lengthy wait we watched village life pass along the busy main street. Most of the locals were quite friendly, giving us a nod or a cheerful ‘Hello’. Eventually, our sandwiches arrived and we were in for a treat: triple-deckers with green salad and optional dressing. This was not going to be a light lunch; but it was going to be a very tasty one. Whilst taking the photo, the
owner appeared, to enquire what we thought of the sandwiches: ‘Good or bad?’ he asked. ‘Excellent!’ was our heartfelt and unanimous response, to which the owner said that they liked to do things properly! By now the sun was at full strength and I could feel my arms and legs warming considerably. How pleasant for the end of September. But after a rest of nearly an hour it was time to set off again. With a full stomach I certainly found the next few miles a bit of an effort to regain my riding rhythm.
Nearing the end of the ride we passed through the hamlet of Onehouse. Onehouse, which is pronounced ‘Wunnuss’, was first recorded in the eleventh century and is a translation from Old English of ‘āna’ and ‘hūs’, the ‘single’ or ‘isolated house’. Not surprisingly, today there are several houses!
13. TOUR OF THE PYRENEES
Sunday 2 October 2016, 67 Miles
Stage 1: St-Jean-De-Luz to Pamplona ‒ A Warm-Up in Some Hills
Today has been a very long time in the making! After last year’s Land’s End to John O’Groats tour the so-called Elites have transformed into Team Super Six and decided to do another tour together, with the Pyrenees as our destination of choice. About twelve months ago we booked our places with ACT Cycling Tours. Earlier this year we got together in the Lake District for a very wet training weekend. Now it was great to finally be standing on the start line in St-Jean-De-Luz ready for Le Grand Depart. So much anticipation; now the reality was upon us. And the prospect of riding together again was brilliant.
Saint-Jean-De-Luz lies roughly midway between Biarritz in France and San Sebastián in Spain. This is the Basque country, and the town has a lot of history associated with it. In a politically driven strategic alliance, Louis XIV, the Sun King, married Maria Theresa, the Infanta of Spain, in 1660. The town was used by the Duke of Wellington as his Peninsula War headquarters during the winter of 1813‒14. Nearly 25,000 Polish soldiers were evacuated from the town’s beach in June 1940. These days the town and its beaches are very popular with tourists.
Following breakfast at the Hotel Odalys Erromardie we retrieved our bikes from the support van and made our way down to the nearby beach so that we could say that we had started from the Atlantic coast. Andy was the only one who actually went on to the beach and dipped his tyres in the sea. After posing for a group photo we were off and riding. There are fifteen of us on the tour so there were some new names to remember and some new people to chat to. Sunday morning in Saint-Jean-De-Luz is a quiet time so we eased ourselves into riding on the other side of the road without having to worry too much about the traffic. There was no doubt that that we were in France, as we passed by, or were passed by, several groups of club cyclists. Most of the groups were quite small, but one group, resplendent in their club colours, must have contained over 30 riders. In no time at all we were heading south to the first climb of the day: a fairly short and gentle ascent of the Col de Ibardin that warmed up the legs. Reaching the top marked the border between France and Spain. The only giveaway to indicate that we were entering Spain was a sign announcing that we were now crossing into the region of Navarre. The 1,000-foot descent through some magnificent chestnut forests was enhanced by the sweeping hairpin bends. All to soon we reached Bera and were into the Valle del Bidasoa. Fantastico!
Apart from the stunning scenery, sunny skies and lively banter, two things struck me. First, how smooth the road surfaces were; and second, how little traffic there was. This meant that we could really enjoy our surroundings. So much so that we relaxed and began riding two abreast on what, back home, would be a fairly major A-road. Our enjoyment was somewhat shattered by a loud hailer announcement of ‘Hombres – uno!’ as a police vehicle, complete with flashing blues, passed by us. Oh dear, a potential diplomatic incident within the first 20 miles. So we tucked in behind each other and continued on our way to the first feed stop at Sunbilla where Martyn and Amanda were waiting for us.
After refreshing ourselves we set off for the main climb of the day: around 15 miles through some fabulous forest. With an average gradient of around 3 per cent with short stretches up to 6 per cent it wasn’t very steep, just long. Sweeping hairpins added to its interest, though the longer, straighter parts were more challenging mentally. Every so often, spectacular views opened up which helped to show how far we had already climbed; and how far we still had to go. After about 90 minutes, we reached the top, regrouped and headed off on a fantastic descent: fast, sweeping curves with smooth, dry road surfaces – bliss!
Sadly, all good things come to an end and we reached the bottom of the valley for our second refuelling stop. Then it was a fast blast towards Pamplona, slightly marred by a succession of mechanicals: one puncture, two chain unshippings and one broken chain. But the team was well up to the challenge and it was great to see everyone pitching in and helping friends who had experienced some bad luck. Who knows? Tomorrow it might be my turn to need some help.
All too soon we were into Pamplona, riding through the outskirts and into the historic old part of the city to reach our hotel. Unpacking, I discovered that I had left the cable that connects my camera memory card to my iPad at home, so uploading my photos will have to wait until I get back. And if I was told this was the route for tomorrow, my only comment would be, ‘What time do we start?’
Once I completed my usual end-of-ride routine (bike check and clean, followed by a shower) it was time to have a look round Pamplona before dinner. The city is the capital of the province of Navarre and has achieved worldwide fame for the bull running which forms part of the San Fermin Festival held in July. We could see marks on some of the walls where the bulls’ horns had (allegedly) scored the stonework. We were also able to visit the bullring, which was an impressive structure, though as it was closed we were unable to get inside. After enjoying a refreshing cold beer in one of the city’s many small squares we headed back to our hotel, the Hotel Maisonnave, for an excellent dinner.
Monday 3 October 2016, 77.6 Miles
Stage 2: Pamplona to Jaca ‒ A Foretaste of Things to Come
Under rather grey skies and a cool temperature we gathered outside our hotel to prepare for today’s stage. The route promised a steady ride with ‘no significant hills’ (in the words of tour organiser Martyn) so it was a sort of transitional stage. We managed to find our way out of Pamplona without too much difficulty and were soon into open countryside. Ahead of us in the distance were the Hautes Pyrenees, which we will be riding in tomorrow.
The Super Six were in good spirits and together we made excellent progress on some superb smooth road surfaces. I dropped off the back of the group at one point to take a photo and then indulged in a spot of pursuiting to get back on. It was pure bliss to spin along almost effortlessly at around 25 to 30 mph for a couple of miles with the aid of a tailwind and the sound of my tyres swishing on the smooth surface. It made me realise how crappy the roads are back at home. After catching up with the rest of the team we rode together to the first feed stop at around 25 miles. With a mug of coffee and a banana inside me I was fully recharged and ready for the second leg.
As we headed further east and away from the influence of the coastal climate the countryside took on a much more arid appearance. With sparser vegetation, less greenery and sun-baked soil it was almost like riding on the edge of a desert. After about 30 miles we arrived at the only real climb of the day, in two parts at around 9 per cent. We were riding on what was the former main road; a new dual carriageway had been built alongside us which carried most of the traffic. The surface of the old road, however, was better than most of the equivalent minor A-roads in England.
Getting over the climbs we crossed over from Navarre and into the Province of Aragon. We then rode alongside a reservoir, the Embalse de Yesa, which was almost empty of water. Around us were some spectacular limestone hills with several impressive cliffs. This was certainly very dramatic countryside. And the High Pyrenees increasingly dominated the background; a reminder of things to come
over the next few days. This was the sort of country that I have seen before in Spaghetti Westerns. I could almost imagine Clint Eastwood, some Mexican bandits, a mule and maybe even a nun emerging from one of the many canyons we passed.
After topping up at the second feed station we then had a long and quite testing ride for the final 25 miles, all gently uphill at an average of 1‒2 per cent with a few slightly steeper sections. The headwind and rising temperatures ensured this was quite hard work. We took turns to lead the group, which helped to reduce the overall workload and enabled us to maintain a reasonable average speed. Arriving at outskirts of Jaca we stopped for a cooling ice cream at the local McDonald’s outlet; not quite PC for ‘elite’ cyclists, welcome nevertheless. Suitably chilled we rode into Jaca and found our overnight base, the Hotel Jaqués, in the centre of the city.
With plenty of time to spare we had a stroll round narrow streets of the city centre. Vincenzo, one of the Super Six who is my roommate for this tour, was on a quest for a new magic link. He had the misfortune to break his chain yesterday so he was on the lookout for a bike shop to buy a replacement link for the one he had used to join the chain back together again. Amazingly, we found a bike shop just around the corner from the hotel. Although it was closed when we found it, a handwritten sign in the window told us it would be open later. And it was. Vincenzo got his link, so success was achieved.
Jaca sits in the shadow of some impressive mountains which I am sure we are going to get to know – intimately. Whilst browsing in a couple of shops I managed to work out that Jaca is also a base for winter sports, so there’s another clue about tomorrow’s hill climbing. The city has made several unsuccessful bids to host the Winter Olympics.
Tuesday 4 October 2016, 73 Miles
Stage 3: Jaca to Campo ‒ An Exhilarating Day in The Mountains
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