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Here be preamble: VeloCake

Again, a plan is hatched. A route plotted, then replotted, then replotted. Time booked off work, so that child related stuff is all sorted and there are no distractions or requirements to be home for a particular time. The forecast is checked – conditions look pretty good. However, in the days leading up to the event, the temperatures drop and, worryingly, snow reappears. As Thursday comes closer, I become more and more determined to do this. I need to do this. There are points to be made and demons to be stared down. Someone at work asked me if I was training for something? I replied in the negative. Something has been in the back of my mind for weeks, but that wasn’t a reason for doing this. Well, okay, maybe a little but nothing had been decided as yet.

10am on Thursday arrives and, surprisingly on schedule, I’m off. If a route was a painting, this would be broad brushstrokes across Fife, Clackmannanshire and Perth & Kinross. Sweeping from one side to the other, with a handful of bail-out points just-in-case. Tunes are picked. Mogwai – all tracks – shuffle.

I set off north, partly to ensure the route hits the target, partly to get some climbing in soon, partly to give me a break on a descent as I approach the 1/3 way point. I’m making reasonable time and before I know it, I’m ascending the hill that passes the forest then swooping down the back roads towards the back of Dunfermline and Carnock.

From there, its still westwards, with a plan of hitting the West Fife Cycle Way in an effort to avoid traffic and gain more distance quickly (the original plan meant staying on the road and less distance at this point). I hit the turnoff and sliiiiide. Snow and ice. Regardless, I press on. It looks grippy enough on the main path but I lose time picking my way through some dodgy looking spots. In good time I’m spat out near Alloa and start northwards. I’m planning a foodstop soon and have three options – greasy trucker porta-cafe thing, cafe or whatever I find in Saline. Option one is nowhere to be found, option two appears to be closed, so I end up pedalling to Saline for food, which wasn’t really part of the plan. I get a sandwich, a 35p per can Red Bull knock off and more water and, as if by magic, make the sandwich disappear. I refill my waterbottle, add more Nuun and save the Not-Red-Bull for later. Pausing to note the fact that the use by date of the sandwich was the day before, I bin my waste and head out of Saline on the back road.

I’m about 5 minutes out of Saline, rapidly losing height and realise that I’m going the wrong way. I’m heading west instead of north and seem to have missed a turn off. Never mind, I’ve ridden this road before and ‘extra’ miles here mean less miles later. Well, it made sense to me…..

A slow grind takes me to Powmill and more twisty back roads northwest via Balado, Milnathort and eventually Glenfarg. In my head, I work out that I’ll hit 62.5 miles a(aka 100km) by Milnathort and the notion helps me hammer on. I hit the village and stop for a wee rest on the motorway flyover. I’ve promised myself a mars bar at Glenfarg so don’t stop for long and press on over the hill to Glenfarg and the shop. One and a half bars later, I’m all set and try to find the way out of the village. My planned route appears to be a footpath (not completely clear on the map) so I play it safe and take the road I know even though it goes the wrong way for a while, ending up at the junction with the main road. The plan here is to head west and head towards Cupar, then back towards home from there to hit the 100 mile mark.

By this point, I’m getting tired, hungry and starting to wonder if this was a good idea. However, my legs still have life in them and the need to do this still outweighs any notions of common sense.

Its at this point that I get a little surprise. I spot a signpost to Cupar and realise something – my maths has been off. A little curse, then I realise that it’s to my benefit. I’ve made up enough extra ground on the rode so far that the trip to Cupar isn’t needed. I can just hit Strathmiglo, circumnavigate the Lomonds then take a scenic route home via Kinross, Kelty and Kingseat. There’s probably a KKK joke here, but its not the time.

So, a belt down the main road, through Strathmiglo and along the drag of death. Then, Loch Leven, Kinross and a quick downing of the last gel followed by a sprint through Kelty. It was unclear what was fueling me at this point – the gel or the notion of being home shortly. Regardless, I’m quickly through Kelty and on the climb to Kingseat, followed by the traditional sprint for the mileometer (oddly slow this time…wonder why?) then doubling back on myself and heading towards the ‘Beath. Once I get over the motorway flyover, its a descent for over a mile and freewheeling all the way home.

As I’m floating down the last road before home, I have a moment of what might be clarity and think back to the conversation about training. This was hard, don’t get me wrong, but it didn’t kill me. With adequate fuel, I could continue on and although I have spent over 7 hours in the saddle, I’ve done more saddle time on MTB’s and on consecutive days too. I can do it.

It being?

It’s done. I’m in. there’s no turning back now.

It’s simple. Four wheels (2 x front, 2 x rear), four tires. Chop and change to see what combination works.

Thanks to the nice folks that made some suggestions on what to try.

Summer has arrived in the Kingdom and, thanks to an incident on Saturday involving a white van, a murder attempt, a punch and a high-speed chase round the streets of town, I needed the soul-cleansing power of an MTB ride on Sunday.

Off I set, out the back of town (with one eye watching for a charming man in a white van) and I hit the path. All around, things are brown, except for a white strip corresponding to the path, a pattern that continues for the next two miles. Its hard going, I have to ride on the verges as the trail itself is sheet ice. Trail etiquette is abandoned in favour of personal safety and after a bit of a slog, I reach the top of the hill, a pile of dogshit and the opportunity for a breather. I flick the lockout on the forks off and head down, again hanging to one side to avoid the ice and I’m spat out at the back of the high school. I decide to risk the man-made loch trail and regret it – more sheet ice where there’s supposed to be a trail. Thing can only get better, and they do…..

I hit the Hill of Beath and climb to the first singletrack descent. Last week, it was calf-deep snow (see the pic on the last post for this….), today it’s grippy dirt. The difference in seven days is amazing. I hit the descent and its filthy. Pure, unadulterated filth of the good kind. I slip, slide, drift and hammer down and across the contours….

I exit the trees, swerve to avoid ice on the last steep bit, take the alternative line, clench, descend and release…..

A short road stretch then part two begins. I hammer round the singletrack at Crossgates then head up the hill to the farm. Before I know it, I seem to have changed ecosystem. It’s not just sheet ice, there are still snowdrifts and everywhere is white…

After a cake stop, I pick my way back westwards, sometimes at speed, sometimes at a painstakingly slow pace, wondering which wheel will slip sideways next and simultaniously hit the edge of the snow and the edge of town. Down the high street and home. More smiles in the ride bank.

Leaving the office tonight, it was hard to miss the fact that, throughout the day, there had been a major thaw. The snow is going and soon things will be back to normal for this time of year. Back to reality.

It’s been a mix of experiences. At times exhiliarating then frustrating, treacherous then sticking to the trail like glue. Lights on mod-day rides. Polarised lenses, clear lenses, yellow tinted lenses. Frozen water bottles, frozen feet, a frozen beard…..all normal.

I’ve been called keen, brave and insane.

As a finale, I spent well over two hours riding what would normally take 45 minutes. I rode, walked, hiked and climbed. I hammered through perfectly packed channels of snow and hiked through two foot deep drifts. I yelled in frustration and laughed out loud like a child.

I look back on the last three weeks and the things I’ve seen. The clearest blue skies. Hundreds of metres of pristine, untouched snow. Revisiting a trail after a day or two and the only track on it being my tires. Clouds of powder blowing across the moor. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. Okay, maybe not the last one.

One thing is true though. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.

It isn’t time to die though. Its time to press on and see what’s next.

Resolution number one: To not be so obsessed with ‘miles’ or ‘miles for miles sake’, to be focused more on ‘achievements’

(Mileage will be a byproduct, not an objective….)

Resolution number two: Once a month, dust the cobwebs off the MLC bike and just go out and play. Tech, fun, shits and giggles.

…..and there’s a list of stuff to nail too….

- ‘Grant’s Nemesis’ up @ Kelty
- The network of steps in the park in the ‘Beath (in a Calderdale stylee)
- The Benarty singletrack descent
- The high line at goat quarry
- The stone steps under the Devils Burden in the Lomonds
….and more to come.

Resolution number three: Cross-training one night a week. Something not involving a bike.

Worryingly, there may be yoga content here as well as some weights.