Last night I was reminded of the saying, “there’s no such thing as the wrong weather – just the wrong clothing”. I left the house on the CX bike bathed in glorious sunshine wearing shorts and a short sleeved jersey. I’d planned in my head the longest ride I’ve done since Mayhem – a familiar route west then south then tea at Deb’s mum’s house but with a bit of added offroad action in the Goyt Valley. A leap of faith really, I’d planned the route on the map but I had no idea of what to expect. Well, I was expecting mud and hills but I’d no idea of how much/many.
Around Stalybridge the heavens opened, closed again, I dried off, then the heavens opened. This routine persisted throughout the ride and by the time I reached Whaley Bridge I was starting to get quite cold (due to the repeated soaking then windchill) and very, very hacked off with everything in the world. The rain at times was bouncing off the ground.
The “new bit” near the Goyt was nice, despite the weather and the cow poo. There’s an uphill footpath through a wood that’s great for running/shouldering up and some scary steep downhill stuff too. I stopped to chat briefly to a group of runners who were amazed that the bike would be able to take the “abuse of these rough tracks”.
50ish miles, on and offroad, heart rate = quite high mostly (there, you see. I’ve included HR info in a blog entry. I’ll never do that again because it’s boring. I’ll write it down instead in future).