South Shields CXNE

Another Sunday, another cyclo-cross. It's becoming a bit of a thing is thrashing around a random field for 45 minutes.  This time around it was only 30 minutes south of home at Gypsies Green in South Shields. Its an old open air velodrome with tarmac banked tracks located on the coast. 

Designed for track cyclists, its not been used by them for half a century. However, it didn't stop the organisers shoe-horning in a tortuous course for the North East of England league and tight and contrived it certainly was. Bloomin tricky was what it was, and had it been wet and slippy it would have been carnage, with every type of camber, suicide drops and 180 degrees turns. Inscrutable it was. 

Marg was in attendance with camera and dog which was nice. I got caught up in the tape again this time around losing half a minute as I tried to untangle the bike from the tape on the 4th lap under the scrutiny of a tutting marshall. If there was a crime against the plastic fence posts they use for these courses, I would be an enemy of the state, so many have I taken out as I go wide yet-again in search of an easier life. 

On this course there was also a 20m long sand pit which I must say I took at speed and performed with aplomb. The guy who was ahead of me most of each lap, and in my category, couldn't quite get to grips with the obstacle and I overhauled him as he wandered around in a metaphoric sand-storm, before hammering to the line. Very tough and good fun. And the bikes still clean. Thanks to marg for the photos.

 

Simonside and the Return of CX

Well, while you've been sitting there with a handful of pistachios contemplating the meaning of life or waiting for the iron to heat up, I've been out grafting as the faux comeback picks up pace. 

Last week was the first cyclocross event in the North of England cyclocross league and, true to form, I was nearly, but not quite, last. The ground was bone dry as the cream of the over 50's, 60's and 70's played on their bikes around a course set out across the Middlesbrough Sports Village. I only fell over once. 

A week later it was down to Whitby for the second round. Buoyed up by 30 bike miles during the week, I rallied well when I saw two of the guys that beat me at Middlesbrough and I can report some sparks of progress amongst another generally benthic (bottom dwelling) performance. I think I generated another 5 watts this week and its all good, a sport which I describe as a 'daft carry-on', where women half your age ride past you like you're doing something similar, but in slow motion and you find yourself every lap teetering precariously as you try to keep forward momentum at the top of the wee sharp rises they keep on adding to courses. The saving grace at this time of the year are the dry conditions and how clean the bike is at the end. A surprisingly good aerobic work out over 45 minutes, its a good choice of cross training. The downside is I need two new tyres and they retail at fifty notes each. Spicy. The bike which I bought 4 or 5 years ago second hand is holding up well. You need a mortgage for a new one.

Elsewhere, the good news continues with a three pound weight loss this last fortnight after living off tuna and beetroot salad and very little ale during the week. The biscuit tin thinks I'm giving it the cold shoulder...and I am.  I felt heavy and unfit, but managed to get through the Simonside Fell Race near Rothbury on Saturday; 7 miles of forest track, dry stream beds, grey windy gritstone crags and farmers fields. The good fight continues, but at least the previously injured knee didn't complain too much and this is, indeed, encouraging.  Still much weight loss to take place, but must stick to my guns. The sheer boredom of dieting doesn't enrich life, but having got my name down for an Italian Mountain race later this year, I need to apply myself.  

Just finished 'Cider with Rosie' by Laurie Lee, a rather meandering novel of rustic English life, 'April in Spain' by John Banville, which was fine, and now on with Mick Herrons 'The Secret Hours'.