New Boot & Panties

Sat in the mid-morning sunshine armed with a mug of hot tea, I am feeling righteous. The bike wheels have been trued and came back yesterday, so I have spent the entire morning (so far) stripping the rear cassette (the wee group of cogs that sit on the rear back wheel), cleaning them, then re-assembling them. I’ve also mounted new tyres on both wheels. Tidy. The tyres are knobbly Continentals.  Shelling out fifty quid for the 2 tyres, I reasoned that they will provide me with better traction than the old ones at the forthcoming cyclocross in Irvine in bonny Ayrshire. Truth be told, if I had reduced the pressure from 40psi to about 20psi last time around at Herrington, I might not have had to be so tentative at the tricky bits during the race and probably wouldn’t have needed to splash the cash. Let's not talk about the new mountain bike shoes, but you’ll agree that they will give me a further edge across the sandy beach course. I think I counted a field of 100 over 50’s when last I looked at the British Cycling entry list, so I won’t be alone, one way or another. There could be some horrible congestion, though.

I used to spend hours riding and cleaning my bike when I was an eager young chap back in the eighties when the world was full of possibilities, and, as Scott Fitzgerald once wrote ‘don’t go out unless you’re doing at least 20 miles’. This was later confirmed when Duncan McHardy (RIP), erstwhile part time coach in Dundee said ‘less than 2 hours on the bike is a waste of time’. Times were hard. Standards were high. I used to think that I could ride with the best of them (well, at least in training). Might just be selective amnesia. My VO2 max has slumped like Bitcoin since then and my heart rate can only daydream about what it used to do, but I’m grateful that I can still go out and enjoy a good beasting, whether it be a run or a ride. 

Getting new tyres on wheel rims is a right faff. They’re too tight and it takes technique not to nip the rubber tube. It is a technique that I do not possess. It’s no wonder that the kids send their bikes to the local shop for any little thing. I paid twenty quid for the wheels to be straightened and most probably I could have done it myself, if I’d watched a youtube clip or three. My mother used to get exasperated when she’d find my polishing my spokes in the hall with silvo or bathing my nuts and washers in turps on the kitchen floor. Nutbath city limits. I am slowly rediscovering my old love of the bike and just need to complete negotiations with Mrs Mac as to where in the house they can reside. There is something atavistic about men and their ‘little collections’. I am not very patient when it comes to hoarders, but I concede that I have a blind spot for my own transgressions. There's been more than one visitor to the house who was agog at the bikes all over the place. I should add that they’re not all mine. The garage is too damp for the lovies, and who wants to over-winter with the mice or leggy spiders and listen to that tumble dryer doing its best to destroy the planet. I would really like them (the bikes, not the mice) in a room downstairs. A shed might be an idea, but the garden’s not that big and we might lose the onions Mrs mac has recently planted. So, for the time being, they are a persistent fixture at chez al.  

Moving on to running, I managed to improve my placing at last Saturdays Lambton Cross Country and nearly managed to breach the top 100. As I flogged my way with 450 other runners around 3 laps of a country park near Washington, I mused that this time of year is (without fear of contradiction), my nearly favourite time of the year to run. The autumnal colours are stunning. Running in the snow cannot be beaten though. My mileage is already up to 32m this week so I better reign it in. Its Kirkcaldy tomorrow for the 4k. Wish me luck. I’ll have the cleanest sprockets on the course! 

Postscript: 'I now read that selective amnesia may be a sign of impending memory loss. Ironically this research was published by University College, Irvine, but not the Ayrshire Irvine!' Who said that?   

Herrington Park, Cyclo Cross (16th Oct)

Its been a busy few weeks back here in allymac towers. Speedy Joe has gone over to the dark side and got married and so folk have been a bit pre-occupied with all the arrangements and what not. As Anton the groom pointed out, the criteria for being selected as a bridesmaid was a sub 20min 5k! What with her new surname, I imagine that she'll have to re-invent herself! In the meantime, I have clocked up 40 running miles last week and also managed to shoe-horn in another full-on cardio session cyclo-cross a fortnight ago.  I inadvertently described the cardio workout at Herrington near Sunderland to my running companion earlier this week as a 'cardiac' session, and that's probably nearer the truth. There's two leagues in the north east here for cyclo-cross and this time it was the larger, moderately more expensive CXNE league event  that I signed up for.  

The start was seeded, and if you haven't paid the extra forty quid for a full licence, you don't get points and so are always destined to start at the back of the pack. Pathetic in a small minded way, really. There were around 50 over-50 men in the field, with the women setting off about a minute behind us. I had come down in the warm up and it took a good few laps before I began to become more confident with the various twists, turns and adverse cambers. I managed to stay upright throughout finishing around 38th or thereabouts. One of my shoes plates had got stuck in the pedals with a screw working loose, so I was pleased I hadn't crashed otherwise I would have struggled to get back up without taking off the shoe. Mrs Mac took a pile of photos so that was something. I have now stuck my name down for the Scottish Champs in Dundee in mid November. Its really just an excuse to get back up to Tayside to see the geese and enjoy the banter.  Its the local cross country this weekend and I wouldn't mind improving on my previous performance. I haven't done Lambton before, so it should be a good workout. 

Druridge Cross Country 2022: All Aboard..

 I managed to remain dry and relatively unsullied during Sundays Cross Country race. There was a big field at Druridge Bay Country Park near Amble, hosting the second of the NE harrier league xc events. It was 2015 the last time I did this, and I recall I had a hacky cough even back then, before coughs were invented and inflation was a thing of the past and a lingering spectre of the future. The women were off first in this handicapped affair and I jogged around some of the course with the Nikon looking for a few good locations to take a few pictures, snapping as some of our lot came past. Soon it was the men and I snuck into a pack of around 450 who together made up the slow pack (the 100 others joining the medium and fast packs). I didn't bring the camera! The ground was firm with just a little yield and it was a fairly straightforward, if breezy, 3 laps. Starting near the back, I worked my way through plenty of folk before my progress stuttered a little in the 3rd lap, where I still pulled a few in, but more bodies from the medium and fast packs came blustering by. I was happy to avoid the ditch as the marshall helpfully stood and shouted exhaustively about the one main feature of the race. 'Watch the ditch'....Finished 218th out of 550 and at the line I managed to remain upright and walked with feign composure to the tent. This must have translated into a steady run, so I need to coax a little more of the old competitive spirit out of the carcass on the next one if I'm going to get near Hemy, Merrison and the likes.

I nearly drove to Manor Water for the hill race the day before, but I read only 30-odd ran; I think the rest were all doing the Skyline on Sunday, a true leg-bender. My next foray north might be the Scottish short course cross country in November. This year its in Kirkcaldy, and I hope I'm in better shape than I was at Lanark last year when I was nursing a hip injury and slacked my way round (http://runnerwanderings.blogspot.com/2021/11/lanark-short-course-xc.html ). I'm back at the weights, but only squatting with 20kg, which is the weight of the bar alone. No weights. Reminds me of how truly puny I am (as if I needed reminding). 

After my self-styled 'awesome' performance at the 3 peaks, I've entered a cyclo-cross at Sunderland on Sunday. I'll try not to be last, but there may be some perverse glory in it If I do finish with da wooden spoon. I also tried to enter a national league event at South Shields, but apparently you need a 'proper' licence, which begs the question 'what have I paid British Cycling fifty quid for'? and should  a question mark go before an apostrophe or afterwards? and does anyone care about grammar anymore. On the reading front I picked up Ali Smiths 'Autumn' yesterday after finishing George Martin's early novella 'Nightflyers', but soon realised that I'd read it earlier this year, and a good, evocative read it was too.  On the same theme, I read 'Midshipman Bolitho' earlier, my first tentative step into the maritime historical fiction genre of Alexander Kent. It was light and enjoyable, slightly more easily digestible than Falkners 'Moonfleet'.   Bought two more of his efforts at the charity book fair last week. What am I like!   Still working on which  next epic event I should grace with my presence....    

A Guid Dookin' at the Yetholm Shepherds Race

 

I’m a week behind the times. Looking around at most of the blog sites written by my peers, I find that very few have had the stamina to continue to keep their blogs up to date. I’m not sure what that says about me. Saddo. Anyway, I digress. Me and Speedy Joe travelled up to the Yetholm Show last weekend for the Shepherds Show Race. It's just over an hour's drive and just over the border. It was a Scottish Championship race this year, so we expected the field for the hill race to be swollen, a little like the burn crossing that had filled with the previous days rain. Around 80 turned out including Wild, Douglas, Marwick, Marshall, Mudge as well as the local Norham, Gala, Wooler and Teviotdales that frequent the annual races held in the Cheviots. We paid our 10 quid for entry and returned briefly to the car to change. After a good heavy shower, it began to dry, and the temperature rose. I was happy that we were going to stay dry and discarded my t-shirt, going for the vest-only look. I had dug out my old Canon sureshot which is light enough to run with and still had a good lense. I had decided that I wasn’t going to flog myself mercilessly up 'yon big hills', but, instead, take the arty photos during the race that no other photographer could possibly manage. As the course leaves the show ground it takes you up one hill to a turn, returning the way you came, back through the show ground, across the burn, then up Staerhough with a wee loop at the top before returning. If I played my cards right, I could photograph the whole field, or at least most of them, at some point.  A woman arrived with two dogs just before we were about to go and she hurriedly pinned her number on her pink t-shirt. I wondered who she was. But soon we were off with me click, clicking to my left and right, then running on. 

The first hill was short and not too steep, and I got a few decent shots, as Wild and Douglas hoofed past me on their first return leg. I put the camera away on the way down, but on reaching the stream crossing, I stopped and dug it out again and let a couple of lads go past so that I could get the ‘shot’ of them splashing across. After the second guy crossed I thought I’d better get on with it, and began to cross, while at the same time stowing away the camera. However, I was not concentrating and tripped, falling headlong into the gushing rapids. There was a hoot of glee from the onlookers, one or two who had their camera phones out. I got up, got to the opposite side and shook the camera. It never stood a chance. I battled on and passed a couple as I ascended Staerhough. It was super windy at the top, but we were not there long enough to get cold, and an Edinburgh Uni girl passed me, before I re-passed her on the way down. At the second crossing of the stream I took it canny and Edinburgh Uni waded past me with confidence and at the finish line she had taken a couple of seconds out of me. Les, the organiser said he would have liked to have witnessed my dooking, and I guessed I was going to be able, at some point, to see the photo taken by one of the on-lookers. What if one had video footage…would my fall from grace go viral. No matter: dispensing with the warm down I got back to the car and changed and poured myself a hot coffee. What a plonker. It was fifty something placing and forty something minutes for the race. 

Surf n' Turf

Speedy was second to the pink shirted runner from down south who goes by the name of Emily Cowper Cowles…look her up. Holds the solo record for the ascent of the UK 3 peaks, including cycling in between them. Crackers.

Getting home, at least the memory card hadn’t been ruined and I stuck the photos on google.

 (link  https://photos.app.goo.gl/p2eSa8GSewasDzp9A )

 The photo of my 'baptism' was found on the Norham facebook site.  The next morning I was off early to Dundee to ride with the Thistle. It was a fine day out for the 7 intrepid riders as we contrived a 55 mile ride that included 3 climbs around Kinnaird and Abernyte. It was the Taybridge and Speedwell bars and a house special chow mein in the evening and an earlyish night before a 25 miler to Errol in the morning gloom. Not a bad weekend all told.

 

3 Peaks Cyclo Cross 2022 - A big day out..

I started the day with porridge at 5.30 in the morning. Soon after, me and my two support team were hoofing it down the road to the Yorkshire Dales for the 3 peaks cyclo-cross race. In a nutshell, it involves getting up Ingleborough, Whernside and Pennygent with your bike and getting back across the finish line in one piece. It involves something like 10 miles of hilly road, 20 miles of track and another 8 miles or so of unrideable terrain, or thereabouts. Now, I've never visited any of the above peaks and if you've been reading this for a while, you'll know I’ve been doing not a lot of this sort of thing, so I was winging it to say the least having paid my eighty quid after pre-qualifying.  

We were sent 7 pages of rules and regulations. The mandatory gear was a whistle, a survival bag and a waterproof. The kit check was minimal once we had parked in the field. Self-reliance is big in the 3 Peaks. I had anticipated finishing in a time of four and a half hours. I diligently completed the back of my number with several emergency contacts - I've never really bothered too much about this before, but today for some reason, I was wondering if I'd bitten off more than I could chew. I joined the queue for the portaloos and caught sight of Chris Young behind me. He won this back in the 80's and I remember him riding away from the bunch in a road race i was taking part in, in Scarborough. In the portaloo, I had to strip 3 layers off and was desperate not to touch anything - these things are awful. A ditch in the open air would be more welcome. Around 350 lined up on the road outside the pub and we were off with our numbers pinned to the left shoulder and a dibber for checkpoints on your wrist. I had screwed an old aluminium bottle cage on the bike and had decided to go with a ron hill backpack to carry bits n bobs, gels, my phone and some nutrition bars. There was 5 miles of neutralised road before we headed up the track to Ingleborough. 

The heart rate was up as the ascent began and I found myself working past quite a few bikies as the impossible gradient meant that many resorted to pulling themselves up the fence wire beside the wall with the bike slung over their shoulder. At the top I realised that today's biggest challenge was going to be how to limit the time loss on the descents. I was not overly happy with the bike brakes and painfully short of experience in down hilling, I was passed by quite a few. It was back onto the road for a ride up to Whernside, where I think I passed Sharon Taylor, the fell=runner out with the kids. There was a drinks station at the toe of the hill and I stopped for salt, a gel and 2 cups of water. Again, I passed around 10 going up Whernside. The clag was still down and the wind felt like it was getting up. At the top I was already 2hrs.39min into the race and feeling some twinges of cramp.  My descent of Whernside was stuttering and was not helped by Mountain Rescue attending a crash victim as the ambulance made its way slowly up the track a mile later. My bottle cage snapped shortly afterwards. I stuck it and the bottle under my jumper. At Horton where the big viaduct was, the cramp appeared again and as I seriously considered jacking. I passed my bottle cage and bottle to a marshal. I had a strong word with myself. I rode on. I was 3hrs.14 minutes in and cheered myself up with a nutty syrup bar and the thought that I only had Pennygent left. 

I had spent minutes taking my gloves off, then putting them back on and after 5 miles on the road, I turned left onto the track leading up to the last peak. There was quite a crowd here and plenty of walkers, not to mention the riders in front who had already ascended and were descending, tearing down the gravel track in a suicidal manner. As I fought my way up the lower slopes I thought I might get flattened. Thankfully, it was not to be. As I ascended, the wind got stronger and there was beginning to get a hefty wind-chill-thing near the top. I was tired and the bike was catching the gusts, pulling my slight frame off the path as I cut a shaky looking figure, exhausted, cold and slowing to a shuffle. I was just ahead of a girl who looked to be a strong cyclist, but not so fast off the bike. 

At the top of Pennygent the clock said 4hrs.24min and I just wanted to get down and finished. My lightweight bike was blowing around like a rag in the wind. The descent was tricky and there was another casualty and another ambulance on its way up. But the track got easier toward the bottom where I saw my support team and, with 3 miles to go, I began cramping again and I let a further 2 get past me. I finished in 5hrs and 50 seconds. I was mightily pleased and after gathering my breath, I looked for the riders refreshments. However, it appeared you had to pay for drinks and food and shaking my head, I wandered back to the car where I was happy that I'd packed a flask, coffee and biscuits. I was pretty hungry and as I sat on the edge of the car boot, I looked at the results print out. 295th. I reflected this was the longest sporting day in my life. I had felt a bit teary once or twice on the ride and realised this is simply exhaustion. It was a big day out. They need to get the free refreshments sorted out, though. The bike took a hammering and performed like a tireless servant. The shoes worked well. Thanks to cat and marg for the support and photos.

Cyclo Cross Bedlington

my 'best' side

 I entered the local cyclo cross race, the first of the season. There are 2 leagues up here in the Tyneside area which makes for a busy winter if you do both sets of races - around 20 in all. This one was local at
Gallagher Park on an old wooded pit heap. Its very twisty-turny and technical. I've done it before in the distant past. This time around there were about 25 on the start line, a modest field.  I was wearing my new Dundee Thistle club top and was riding the Moda bike which I bought at a garage in Durham off a bloke I didn't know. Money changed hands, but I reckon I got a bargain, or at least I thought I did. 

The bike is top end and  I was keen to see if it was all I hoped it would be or if it would simply melt early in the race. It had been raining earlier and the grass, where exposed, was greasy. I started strongly on a steep incline and was in front of a group of 4 at the top largely because I weigh not a lot compared to the average cyclist (conversely I am a bloater in the world of athletics). I had a great first lap and was full of the positive intentions to 'do something'. Then I went and did it, and the bike came down as I pushed too hard on the adverse camber on the reedy grass. The beauty is that generally if you come down its quite a soft landing as long as you avoid going full-on into a tree.  The four behind me came past as I picked myself up and I remounted the bike. They were probably going to get past at some point, anyway. The incident resulted in me dropping from a heady 14th to a lowly but acceptable 18th, and thereafter things were quiet and controlled with only one other minor spill to report. All in all a pretty good aerobic 50 minutes of exercise. The bike took an age to clean afterwards. 

On the following Saturday (just gone) I cycled up to Thropton on the edge of the Cheviots to watch the Thropton show race. I had a mind to run the new 6.8 mile course, but arrived late and after the start due to a brisk headwind. I meant to take a pile of photos, but I got involved in a medical thing with one of the runners who retired and then his condition deteriorated. Hopefully, he's ok. 

Next weekends 3 peaks challenge is a bit daunting, but my new cheap cyclo-cross fell shoes are adequate and the bike seems happy enough; we just need to ensure that the riders properly fuelled and doesn't overdo it. Either way, I will be back into the gym today after a fortnight off with a hacky chest and will start to build the running and cycling miles up again.  

Scottish Mid Trail Champs (Falkland 2022)

 With the 3 peaks cyclo-cross looming late this month, I have been back in the gym for 6 weeks and have been increasingly on the bike. The trips have been modest, 20 miles or so each time. However, on Saturday I joined up with Steve and we took off toward Alnmouth for a 40 miler. A little way out of town we were pottering around 17 mph and chatting on. Having not seen him for a good while, I was doing all the talking. At the top of the hill at Hebron, along the peleton, much to my delight. A group of 10 EMC riders (EMC stands for 'early morning club'; yes, honest). I asked if it was alright to tag on the back and we joined the rear, clipping along for the next 10 miles or so at 23mph. They were heading to Craster but turned in a little toward Alnwick. We dropped off near Guyzance and rode in the light drizzle to Alnmouth. Armed with a fiver, I was mugged by one of the women at the village hall selling her baking wares and we negotiated two drinks and small slabs of banana cake for the rather soggy note. We caught up on the gossip and were soon back on the saddle, returning via Warkworth. It was 55 miles and most enjoyable. 

On the Sunday, we were packed up in the car at 9am and horsed it up to Falkland in Fife for the Scottish Mid Trail Championships. The traffic was well behaved and we arrived with sufficient time in hand for me to wander to Campbells for a coffee. There were around 140 signed up for this 6 mile affair. Speedy joe was 4th last time around and was looking to improve. I was looking forward to a good leg stretch and Mrs Mac was hoping not to get lost or be last. After a warm up we set off up a lane on the Falkland Estate and then disappeared up the side of a hill . It was humid and the heavy rain that had generated a 'yellow alert' from the Metoffice failed to materialise.  I was passed by three or four as we climbed then descended. I caught an Ayr runner, Maclean, on the third wee climb, and the 4th mile was through the woods and in the damp heat with a carpet of pine needles underfoot, very atmospheric, or it would have been if I had not been wide eyed and legless puffing like a broken down old git. On the final flat stretch of path I gave way to an Edinburgh AC girl Nikki Gibson as she cruised past me in the last kilometre. The Ayr chap was still close behind, but at the finish there was not enough road left for him to catch me and I dug deep with an unnecessary full on sprint that proved I had been simply malingering during the race. Speedy was 3rd and only missed 2nd by one second, but that's life. The Edinburgh Uni. girl in front of her was certainly trying her hardest at the end (photo).

It was an improvement on time and placing for her so all good.  I was 72nd in 44.44 (10th v50) and comfortably beaten by Tony Martin (Fife v70)...I want some of what he's having. I probably should have been a couple of minutes quicker, but its difficult to find the mojo recently,  when you find yourself not so much racing, but rather just running hard. The garmin heart rate monitor is just a wall of red when I race these days - maybe it was always the way? The cycling is much easier, so maybe that's the direction my sporting life will to take. Or maybe chess. Or watching the masked singer.....

Mrs Mac did indeed finish and was 2nd last, so no shame there. There was time for another hot beverage and scone at the Lomond tea room before a return to base.   

 (photo by Ant)