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huggeroftreesIt's going to be a bit scattered. There's so much. Bits of it keep cropping up here and there. And for some reason it's all set to Flanders & Swan's "The Sloth" (a bradypus or sloth am I...) which had the perfect cycling cadence. And I'm tired, so rambling is likely.
It started with the epic train journey to Edinburgh. Which I only just caught by the skin of my teeth. Don't get me wrong, I was on the platform 40 minutes before the train was due, but because EVERYONE decided to get out of the door to the compartment where the cycles hang I couldn't GET ON. The guard had already whistled 4 times before I managed to throw everything, bike, bags and me, up into the vestibule.
Auspicious start then! *grin*
Packing, Repacking and Twitter
Friday was emptying the humongous bag onto the bed, repacking it in carefully discussed sections with intermittent breaks for stocking up on carbs and checking encouraging remarks on Twitter. Then it was stuffing the car, hoisting three bikes onto the back and driving off in a Northerly direction (with the minimal number of stops for coffee and tightening the straps on the bikes to stop them wobbling in a worrying manner).
The Point Of No Return
Let's take it as read that Scotland Is Pretty. We went straight up and then hung a right at Inverness. Much too soon for nervous constitutions we had arrived in delightful Nairn (grey, wet, more grey).
We signed in.
It was simple, quick and efficient.
And as we trembled in the car park outside afterwards we knew that in those 5 minutes we had done an irretrievable thing. We HAD to do it now.
(We had a hug.)
Moral Erodes Like Estuary Mud As The Tide Retreats
The drive to where we left the bikes was long. This wouldn't matter, except that we had to run that in the morning. As every minute passed, driven smoothly by fuel injection pistons and German suspension my heart sank further and further. I don't run so good.
It didn't get much better when we arrived. As I struggled to get the wheels back on the bike and the men oiled various things I don't think I saw ANYONE who wasn't well buff with legs of muscle immense. And there were about 10 women. We were really out of our depth.
There was nothing for it but to leave the bikes and head back in search of pasta-ery carbs.
Simon Says Eat Italian
We picked up two hitch-hikers on our way back from the bike transition which prevented us from having to talk about the whole "everyone is miles fitter than us!!!". (Don't ask why we squashed them into our car instead of letting them go in our companion's car behind - which contained only him. The sight of all that muscle and lycra had frozen our brains).
A quick meal of pasta, more pasta and some taste and then it was time for our last real shower and bed. Surprisingly I managed to sleep. Perhaps it was fatalism by then.
The Starting Gun
Crawling out of bed at 5:45 (DOESN'T EXIST!!!) I naturally checked the weather. A woman in the Italian the night before had shaken her head sadly and told us it was going to rain the whole weekend but the lady on the BBC was quite persistent about sunshine and occasional scattered showers. This cheered me up muchly.
The woman in the Italian was right by the way...
[Moment of rage: BBC? HOW DO YOU GET THE WEATHER WRONG OF THE DAY YOU'RE FORCASTING ON?]
What to say? If you've been on one of these mass events you know how it works. People milling around trying not to be psyched out by anyone whilst at the same time trying strut their own stuff. Herded like cattle into the slaughter enclosure and then the all important GO!!!
Followed by enthusiastic running - before the inevitable bottleneck makes everyone walk again.
This is the point at which I ran 11km. I don't really know how. "Don't Stop Believing" cropped up at one point around the 5km mark. I'll be honest with you - I didn't run the whole way. There were a couple of the inevitable bottle necks and I had a "timetabled" 5 min brisk walk breather after about an hour (and a blister stop). But we made it without any crying or people going on strike or any of that.
(And to the three girls in pink who I used as a pacemaker - thank you. You saved me and I am eternally grateful).
Wet Saddles Are FUN!
Transition, 50 odd people huddled under a largish gazebo in various stages of undress. Just to say - we weren't in the market for a speedy transition. Took about 20 mins. But (and it's a big but) we met the lads on their way out as we came in. Never has the sight of two mud splattered gentlemen been such a boost - and I've watched rugby :D. WE HAD BEEN SPEEDY ON THE RUN! YEAH.
The less said about butt cheeks to wet saddle the better.
50 miles. 50 long miles. Sometimes it went up, sometimes it went down. Sometimes it didn't rain, but mostly it did. There were moments of pretty and long stretches of moor. We had a sheewee stop but though my sister managed an encouraging stream the saddle appeared to have permanently rearranged my internal organs and there was nothing doing.
We cycled, we talked, I sang some silly songs and through it all our legs kept turning, steady and strong. Legs are awesome things. The last hour was tough, I admit I walked up most of the last hills (in my defence, my bottom cog was not working so I was a bit hampered) but my sister didn't get off once. I swallowed my shame and just walked as fast as I could.
The last evil uphill was crowned by a chappie with a camera and I managed to get on for the very last few feet (Sis got a huge cheer from the folk who'd been watching her peddle all the way up). Then it was downhill all the way to the finish. And what a downhill. I think Sis's bloke said he got up to 37 on it and made the speed sign thing flash "Slow Down" at him. I only hit 26, but it felt fast enough!
Well Done, Have a Lake
You were supposed to run to the kayak bit at the end, but as I still had my cycling shoes on (Clips = not good for running) we walked. They kayak was quiet and peaceful, all of Loch Ness spreading away at our sides. Beautiful. And it had stopped raining. The boys had pitched our tents and after a short shower (my feet looked like I'd come down with trench foot - but then so did everyone else's so we didn't worry) it was time for a swift glass of wine and some tasty foods.
Fort Augustus did us proud. If you're ever passing through, spend some money there for us. They didn't twitch an eyelash at the invading hordes of fleece clad folk demanding carbs. And I had apple pie.
Then it was off to bed before the midges ate us alive and once the guy in the tent over the back had stopped snoring I was well on my way to slumberville.
After all, it was a big day tomorrow. It had to be, there was a mountain to fit in it. :D
End of Day One.
It started with the epic train journey to Edinburgh. Which I only just caught by the skin of my teeth. Don't get me wrong, I was on the platform 40 minutes before the train was due, but because EVERYONE decided to get out of the door to the compartment where the cycles hang I couldn't GET ON. The guard had already whistled 4 times before I managed to throw everything, bike, bags and me, up into the vestibule.
Auspicious start then! *grin*
Packing, Repacking and Twitter
Friday was emptying the humongous bag onto the bed, repacking it in carefully discussed sections with intermittent breaks for stocking up on carbs and checking encouraging remarks on Twitter. Then it was stuffing the car, hoisting three bikes onto the back and driving off in a Northerly direction (with the minimal number of stops for coffee and tightening the straps on the bikes to stop them wobbling in a worrying manner).
The Point Of No Return
Let's take it as read that Scotland Is Pretty. We went straight up and then hung a right at Inverness. Much too soon for nervous constitutions we had arrived in delightful Nairn (grey, wet, more grey).
We signed in.
It was simple, quick and efficient.
And as we trembled in the car park outside afterwards we knew that in those 5 minutes we had done an irretrievable thing. We HAD to do it now.
(We had a hug.)
Moral Erodes Like Estuary Mud As The Tide Retreats
The drive to where we left the bikes was long. This wouldn't matter, except that we had to run that in the morning. As every minute passed, driven smoothly by fuel injection pistons and German suspension my heart sank further and further. I don't run so good.
It didn't get much better when we arrived. As I struggled to get the wheels back on the bike and the men oiled various things I don't think I saw ANYONE who wasn't well buff with legs of muscle immense. And there were about 10 women. We were really out of our depth.
There was nothing for it but to leave the bikes and head back in search of pasta-ery carbs.
Simon Says Eat Italian
We picked up two hitch-hikers on our way back from the bike transition which prevented us from having to talk about the whole "everyone is miles fitter than us!!!". (Don't ask why we squashed them into our car instead of letting them go in our companion's car behind - which contained only him. The sight of all that muscle and lycra had frozen our brains).
A quick meal of pasta, more pasta and some taste and then it was time for our last real shower and bed. Surprisingly I managed to sleep. Perhaps it was fatalism by then.
The Starting Gun
Crawling out of bed at 5:45 (DOESN'T EXIST!!!) I naturally checked the weather. A woman in the Italian the night before had shaken her head sadly and told us it was going to rain the whole weekend but the lady on the BBC was quite persistent about sunshine and occasional scattered showers. This cheered me up muchly.
The woman in the Italian was right by the way...
[Moment of rage: BBC? HOW DO YOU GET THE WEATHER WRONG OF THE DAY YOU'RE FORCASTING ON?]
What to say? If you've been on one of these mass events you know how it works. People milling around trying not to be psyched out by anyone whilst at the same time trying strut their own stuff. Herded like cattle into the slaughter enclosure and then the all important GO!!!
Followed by enthusiastic running - before the inevitable bottleneck makes everyone walk again.
This is the point at which I ran 11km. I don't really know how. "Don't Stop Believing" cropped up at one point around the 5km mark. I'll be honest with you - I didn't run the whole way. There were a couple of the inevitable bottle necks and I had a "timetabled" 5 min brisk walk breather after about an hour (and a blister stop). But we made it without any crying or people going on strike or any of that.
(And to the three girls in pink who I used as a pacemaker - thank you. You saved me and I am eternally grateful).
Wet Saddles Are FUN!
Transition, 50 odd people huddled under a largish gazebo in various stages of undress. Just to say - we weren't in the market for a speedy transition. Took about 20 mins. But (and it's a big but) we met the lads on their way out as we came in. Never has the sight of two mud splattered gentlemen been such a boost - and I've watched rugby :D. WE HAD BEEN SPEEDY ON THE RUN! YEAH.
The less said about butt cheeks to wet saddle the better.
50 miles. 50 long miles. Sometimes it went up, sometimes it went down. Sometimes it didn't rain, but mostly it did. There were moments of pretty and long stretches of moor. We had a sheewee stop but though my sister managed an encouraging stream the saddle appeared to have permanently rearranged my internal organs and there was nothing doing.
We cycled, we talked, I sang some silly songs and through it all our legs kept turning, steady and strong. Legs are awesome things. The last hour was tough, I admit I walked up most of the last hills (in my defence, my bottom cog was not working so I was a bit hampered) but my sister didn't get off once. I swallowed my shame and just walked as fast as I could.
The last evil uphill was crowned by a chappie with a camera and I managed to get on for the very last few feet (Sis got a huge cheer from the folk who'd been watching her peddle all the way up). Then it was downhill all the way to the finish. And what a downhill. I think Sis's bloke said he got up to 37 on it and made the speed sign thing flash "Slow Down" at him. I only hit 26, but it felt fast enough!
Well Done, Have a Lake
You were supposed to run to the kayak bit at the end, but as I still had my cycling shoes on (Clips = not good for running) we walked. They kayak was quiet and peaceful, all of Loch Ness spreading away at our sides. Beautiful. And it had stopped raining. The boys had pitched our tents and after a short shower (my feet looked like I'd come down with trench foot - but then so did everyone else's so we didn't worry) it was time for a swift glass of wine and some tasty foods.
Fort Augustus did us proud. If you're ever passing through, spend some money there for us. They didn't twitch an eyelash at the invading hordes of fleece clad folk demanding carbs. And I had apple pie.
Then it was off to bed before the midges ate us alive and once the guy in the tent over the back had stopped snoring I was well on my way to slumberville.
After all, it was a big day tomorrow. It had to be, there was a mountain to fit in it. :D
End of Day One.