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'.     

Snowdon Race (Ras Yr Wyddfa) 2026

It was another long trip to North Wales for Speedy Joe's Snowdon appearance in a Scotland vest.  I was doing Dad's taxi and took the Nikon for some photos. 

I have just started to get back out on the road after my knee rehabilitation which has taken forever.  

It was the 49th running of this 10 mile Welsh classic and the Italians were back with their crack squad. The English team also had 4 very handy women runners who were joined by the Northern Irish, Irish and of course the hosts the Welsh, together with 300 other club runners and locals.

With a two o clock start, we woke to an early mist sitting over the lake in Llanberis. There was an inversion above which made everything a little grey in the valley. 

I managed two miles around the town and a slow coffee and we idled the morning away before getting out of the cottage and making our way up the hill. I speed-walked to the halfway mark, just before the bothy. 

There were the usual hoards of walkers around and for some, the walk to the top really is a major effort. I was more worried about how I was going to juggle taking photos and handing the youngsters water on the ascent and descent.  The sun began to break through around the hill, but I took most of the photos with a grey background which I think gave a spartan and rather bleak atmosphere.  As usual some very good shots, several moderate and a handful of duff images which will never see the light of day.

Once my water duties were no longer required I began to make my way down, snapping as I walked. 

All together not a bad weekend and the drive back and traffic on the Sunday was forgiving and we were pretty pleased to arrive home before four.    

Results at  https://tdleventservices.co.uk/

Photos at  https://photos.app.goo.gl/TUSpy28okM5rJnNs6

Earlston Black Hill Race 26

We've driven up and down the A68 plenty of times in the past, as you do. 

Recently, Earlston located in the Scottish Borders has been known for its cheap petrol (compared to some others who relentlessly fleece Joe public). As you look across east from the road, there is a cracking looking hill south of the town and we've commented that it would be great to run up. So it was last night that we took a trip to Earlston, sampled its fish suppers, toilets and local hill race (but not in that order!). Its got 3 pubs. Who knew?

Around sixty troopers lined up for the 5 miler including Speedy. I'm still crocked at the moment and quite resemble a fat lad.  I had the camera and took myself the 3k up along the grassy track to the start of the steep and short climb. Perched on the side I got some nice snaps and then caught some coming back down. I jogged a bit and this morning I am delighted to say that I'm no worse for the experience. Speedy was about 7th when I saw her and seemed to be enjoying the workout. I had a sweat on coming back and drove back down south in my damp t shirt. Happy days. 

On the book front, I raced through 'Stoner', an excellent read for a change and not anything to do with a druggie! I have subsequently dived into another classic, Ballards 'Empire of the Sun'' which is turning out to be another belter.  

Earlston Black Hill Race - Photos at link:   https://photos.app.goo.gl/euSAPRqHKPycjdDr6

Twist & Shake

Well, if you can't run, sing!  No one ever said that, but at least the breezy physio whom I saw yesterday gave me a few other options.  The swelling over my left knee which I twisted at Goatfell has taken an age to reduce. The first tentative short jogs I attempted 2 weeks ago failed within a mile. 

Last weeks easy biking around Feldy was welcome exercise, but Sunday saw a partial relapse when I pushed things a little more.  

 You can do these exercises, you can go to the gym, you can't run, not yet... 

You can swim, you can do the exercise bike, but maybe leave the real thing out for a bit...

Bin any ideas about running at Blencathra this weekend with all your other old cronies... 

And you probably won't manage the Kirkpatricks race early July... 

Apart from that, you're good to go....to the larder.  Its true I cleaned the bin on Monday. Does that count?.

More time to try and finesse my camera skills (teehee).  A trip to Eildon on Saturday was rewarded with a few great shots, several good ones and several blurry images that have become my trademark. Will try a different camera over the next week or so.

Link to photos at 

https://photos.app.goo.gl/WMSD48dpHxUroxEYA

  

    

Goatfell 2026

This is the third time we've made the pilgrimage to Arran for the Goatfell Mountain race. Organised this year by the new club on the block, Queens Park AC, the weather was ideal, dry, sunny and cool for the 10 mile affair with 2800ft of ascent. 

We stopped at Stevenston on the Friday night, thanks to Speedy who re-booked us after she noticed that we were booked in for the 8th May, and not the 15th. Doh! I might have as well chucked a pile of tenners out of the car window. Hotel accommodation that you don't show up for is profligate buffoonery. 

It was a tangerine and porridge pot for breakies and I stuck a couple of  gels in the bum bag. After Deesides Alan Smith;'s early withdrawal at the previous weeks Ben Lomond, he made an appearance at Brodick and my vision of an casual wander up yon big hill was torpedoed. I held him off for half an hour, but really it was a re-run of Nevis a couple of years ago.  More hill work required.

I ditched the two shoe strategy I had tried previously. It takes about fifteen seconds to change your shoes once you hit the mile run-in on the road and I stuck with the Salomons which have at least a little bounce. As it was, I grafted up the hill and got some snatched GoPro footage for my budding new career in the movies industry on the ascent. 

Soon the fast lads were descending past us, the rapid and diminutive Tom Spencer miles ahead of his Westerland pursuers at the front end. 

I dug out the 2nd gel near the summit and put the camera away for the descent, which was a pity because I might have banked some good footage, but probably of me taking a dive and smashing my recent dental work someway on the rocky tracks.  I must have twisted my knee somewhere on the way down where I managed to hurl myself past six or seven competitors with my pitter-patter stubby legs doing their thing, but three of them easily overhauled me on the last flat mile of tarmac. I hate that road bit! Another 2nd place M60 and 3 bottles of Arran Ale. Musn't grumble. 

Ninety ran. Speedy snaffled first woman, so she got the coffees in. The crisps, cakes and tea were plentiful and we got the ferry back, talking over two plates of something that resembled Chicken Tikka to three blokes who had seen us on the hill. This morning, the knee is still up like a cauliflower, but I'll dig out the frozen peas, put the leg up and endure.        

Ben Lomond Race 2026

Well, it wasn't pretty, but I was pleased and exhausted with this years run out at Ben Lomond. Its taken me four days to recover from the 8 mile combination of forced march and semi-freefall, although as I hugged Dave Allsop's shoulder for a mile or so downhill (before he eventually dispatched me), I caught a glimpse of what I used to be capable of, while realising that my downhilling isn't, now, what it once was. 

Earlier I had tramped up the hill, much of the time with Hanna from Strathearn. Clad in yellow, Westerlands vet Anderson, M60's winner at Dumyat, had started ahead of me and it stayed like that as he disappeared over the ridge at the halfway mark. Oddly, having seen Deeside's Alan Smith mulling around the start, I was waiting for the legend to come past and pace me back up to Westerland; but unbeknown to me, he wasn't running and I spent most of the race resisting being passed by my imagination. 

I made no ground on Anderson throughout the race, but I was stalwartly intransigent in my slow capitulation as I asecended, gathering the vestiges of residual energy from mitochondria who think I should have thrown the towel in years ago. These days, they only manage a grumpy whip-round to help me out. I found myself breaking into short reluctant trots, but only as the gradient permitted. It wasn't convincing. Not at all.    

As Westerlands and me crossed paths near the top, I guessed my competition in the M60 category was about 2 minutes ahead. He was going down, while I was still going up. There was definite work to do on the descent. 'Was I too far back?' I mused as I fed myself my solitary gel. 

Once off the top I was passed in quick succession by 2 younger guys on the steep and heathery section of the race. My grasp on running on heather and reedy grass is slight. As I hit the track, Allsop came past and I sat in for a good while. Having a heavy breather (like me) behind must have done his head in, and he admitted the same afterwards. However, all good things have to come to an end and the elastic snapped and off he went. I came past another guy halfway down the hill and then my tiny mind got excited as I caught a leggy lad in green vest (who we shall call Jason, cause that's his name) on the lower reaches and just before we hit the wide forest road.  The punters and trekkers kindly stood aside and fairly gasped at the agility of an old baldie as I skipped and dodged the rocks and outcrops trying to put some daylight between me and Jason. However, once we were onto gravel and the half a mile run in to the finish, his long stride gathered momentum and he motored past me, darting over the cattle grid a.k.a potential ankle breaking race hazard, to the finish 8 seconds ahead:  1:37 for the race and 30th.  

Now that I've got rid of the Doms, we'll see if this weekends Goatfell Race on Arran can break me. Humph. Speedy won the womens race. Photos (by Marg) at  

https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipMooaTGkdk5E56VBm1F67UjQnA8Ev20c5CYRIeBSlyeO6XlQ0oexuMQkcR7OvjqPA?key=cnVJMHF5dEtFRnYxZm5SUTBicUM0aHZ5TXJ4N29B

Hunters Bog Trot 26

 

I was up early and arrived at the station with 10 minutes to spare. The queue at the coffee stall was 6 deep, so I walked on to the deserted Platform Two and took a seat at the end of the short aluminium bench.   

An older woman sat down 2 seats away on the bench. Her daughter elected to stand outside the refuge on the Platform. ‘Well’, I mused, ‘everyone needs a bit of personal space’. After 2 or 3 minutes the daughter, in her sensible shoes and black jeans, poked her head round the opening and said to her mother ‘I’ve texted you your seat number’, adding, ‘just in case’….. Just in case of what? Was it about to kick off? Unexpected package on Platform Two. Was Travolta slouched in the drivers chair of this Trans-pennine train wielding a '45? Should I expect to see Denzel leaping up the stairs from the station underpass. 

On the train, the trolley woman announced that she and her trolley were on the train serving teas and coffee. She asked us to make our way down to the rear of the train, Coach E. Surely she should be coming to me?

I navigated my way through the gauntlet of slow moving doors and carriages, inquiring faces peering up from their seats. A sea of faces. Some were already tucking into beers and fizz. It was only 7.30!

Arriving at Coach E, the kitchen door was shut, so I knocked on the window. Trolley lady opened up and was happy to serve me an americano, adding that they only took 'cards' for payment. Wtf. Having lost my wallet earlier in the week I was, the day before, in receipt of two new near identical cards. The bank sent me two. I had tried one of the new ones in Lidls the previous evening. It had been declined. But what about cash? Nada. 

Armed only with the other, untested card, the question was ‘Did I feel lucky’? Well, do you? ‘.....No’ was the answer and I made my way, coffeeless, back up the train, simmering, with my tail between my legs. So much for promising to pay the bearer on demand.

I became a bit braver in the St James Centre and withdrew money with the other new debit card from the bank. Probably helps if you put in the right pin. It was a slow coffee in a café and then I dropped off my bag and jacket at half eleven in the bus station lockers. Always a worry that the contents won't still be there when you get back.

I jogged the short distance to the HBT race HQ, a gazebo sat at the edge of St Margarets Pond under Arthurs Seat. It became quite busy and there must have been around one hundred runners who eventually lined up in the sun. 

HBT, the self proclaimed ambassadors of dissidence were asking us to scan a bar code thing and complete a digital entry form on our phones. Whats going on? I said 'I'd rather not' and the lady said she would be happy to lend me her phone to do it. I took her up on the offer.  We're all getting led down a rabbit hole with nothing good at the bottom. Baah.

After the start I was passed by Des C. who kindly advised me that I was overdressed. I got into the familiar walk-run groove up Whinny Hill and tried to make progress, aiming at the wee group of six around ten seconds ahead. After the first hill, I passed one, but then was passed by another. The grass was dry and gradients forgiving, but the downhills were not in any way technical, so I had to rely on my stubby legs to do the grafting. The second hill which skirted Salisbury Crags was steep but short and before I knew it I was bombing down to the finish. Thirty five minutes. Mr C, who had finished, was jogging up toward me on his warm down. I evidently have work to do before Lomond.

I made a couple of new buddies who were also in my age group. They had come down from Inverness and after collecting my bag and jacket, I made my way to the local Weatherspoons and had a good chat for an hour over a pint and a plate of chips with the lads. 

Getting the train back, I heard the announcement over the tannoy ‘Tea and Coffee are available at the end of the train, Coach E.’  Sat in Coach A again, I couldn’t be arsed.  Trolley services; That’s a joke.  Substandard service? Digital progress? Don't make me laugh!  All in all, a jolly good day out.