My new Valentine

In the middle of February I got the news I’d been waiting for: my new bike had arrived. I felt as excited as a five-year-old at Christmas, apart from those times when I was mildly terrified (drop handlebars, different gears, looks smart) and thoughts of “this is going to be fun” mingled with “what on earth have I done?”  Still, I’d paid a deposit and I’m from Lancashire so I went to BW Cycling on 14^th February to have the bike properly set up.

I am slightly obsessed with having my bike set up properly: I’m not tall (you may have noticed), I’m planning to ride a long way (you might have heard) and I’m not young (zip it!). The bike is beautiful: sleek, smooth and rolls with a lovely quiet “tick, tick” sound.

Oli put the bike on a turbo-trainer. I got on it - just (the turbo-trainer lifts it a couple of inches off the ground so it was a bit of a stretch), and Oli stuck white dots on my ankle, hip and knee, then I pedalled while he videoed me. This was not as strange as it sounds: the dots acted as reference points. We looked at the video and he joined the dots, measuring the angles between ankle and hip, shoulder and knee, etc. Then he said something that no-one has ever said to me before: “You’ve got long legs,” adding,”relatively speaking” before lowering the saddle a bit. Ah well, it was good while it lasted. He continued tweaking the set-up of the bike: saddle moved forward, stem changed for a smaller one, then showed me how to change gear. This is all rather complicated and abstract without a road and I think (hope!) it will soon become natural. 

BW have been great: Andy and Oli have been interested in me and what I want to achieve. They’ve taken into account my experience, age and physical fitness without ever being patronising and everyone else has been friendly. I’m confident that the bike is going to do the job.

I went back a few days later to have mudguards fitted (to the bike, not to me) and Oli has lent me his turbo-trainer. I am honoured: he has been National Cross-country Cycling Champion five times and has represented Britain three times at the Olympics. It inspired me and when I got home I set it up the turbo in the carport, put on some loud music and started pedalling. The front wheel seemed to be at an angle, so I got off and adjusted that. I tried the “drinking while pedalling” technique (needs practice). I couldn’t hear the music properly so I went inside and turned up the volume. A few minutes later, the bike started to make a squeaky noise. I stopped pedalling and checked but couldn’t see anything wrong.  I started again and realised I’d left the door open a bit too much on a chilly day but I reckoned I could just about reach it if I leaned over.  So I leaned and …………………………..

It’s not very promising if I can’t even stay upright on a bike that isn’t moving.

Finding our way

“Remember what Bilbo used to say: It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” – JRR Tolkien

Some sort of route planning was necessary so that we knew when to start and so we could tell people who were joining us en route where we could meet. There is no set route for Land’s End to John O’Groats. Several former Lejoggers had talked about their routes and I had four route guide books plus many websites for reference. It didn’t really help: so much choice was just too confusing so I asked Judy to come and help.  She did. I have never had any one help me get so confused so quickly.

To help clarify matters I had bought two identical copies of a road atlas from which we cut the relevant pages and stuck them together. It did stop us diverting to Norfolk (very flat) or Butteriwck (very good potatoes) but the choice of routes was bewildering and we are very easily bewildered.

I wanted to go via Launceston, Darren’s home town, and come through Bristol, our home town. This is very easy if you travel by car: you just stick to the A30 and M5, but less good on a bike: scary at best, lethal at worst and/or illegal. After much deliberation we ruled out staying in Bristol overnight as it seemed to mean that for the next ten nights we would end up far from civilisation, with the possible exception of a night in Runcorn. We decided, though, that we will aim to arrive at Ashton Court at 10am on our first Saturday as post-parkrun cake would be guaranteed then we could have lunch before crossing the Severn Bridge in the afternoon and heading for Monmouth. The “post-parkrun” refers to everyone else: we just plan to be a cheering party for the last runners. All this planning does mean I can indulge my stationery habit, though, and am developing a colour-coded annotation system for the route.

6^th February
A cold laid me low last week, coinciding neatly with my days off, and I had full days at work, plus a day working in Milton Keynes yesterday. It’s meant that my training has gone slightly haywire. On reflection, you can remove those last two words and it’s very accurate. I need to get a firm grip on my training programme and be tough with myself. Fortunately I have several other people who will remind me to keep focused on the end result so I did a spin class this morning. 45 minutes of hard work: screaming leg muscles, tired arms and the single thought of “What on earth have I let myself in for?”

I’ve done fifteen marathons and one thirty-five mile race. I can do this.

                                                               Any excuse for Post-its.