A large climb to Littlehampton



Kate worked so hard climbing the South Downs that she sweated right through her heavy duty rucksack; drenching our vital directions and tyre changing pointers!







Ahhh sunny June indeed (...via Gran Canaria)

Ok so admittedly I had to travel to just off the coast of Africa in order to smirk smugly at Clare's sopping Converse, but spend all week on a beach when I got there? Pah! Dedicated cyclist that I am, before visiting the charming Seedi (who himself cycled to Paris a couple of years ago) I had informed him keenly that we would have to hire bikes so that I could continue my exercise regime. I began to slightly regret this when I arrived in the kind of blazing hot sunshine that's made for sipping cold beer in rather than hill training. Sip cold beers we did (and plenty) but we did find time to do a lot of walking and to squeeze in a 2-hour cycle around the city of Las Palmas. We were put off from hiring a bike from a rental shop by the 100 Euro deposit and a distinct absence of shop employees (the 'back in 10 minutes' sign displayed all day, only for someone to eventually return our call though not to actually come down into the shop mind, left us wondering whether said deposit would be returned safely).

Plan B was to investigate the city's yellow equivalent to London's Boris bikes. A quick set of forms to fill out and a bike was ours for 3 hours for the princely sum of the cost of a text message (take note Transport for London). So at 6pm, in 30 degree heat, we set off. Having discovered that only the crusty old bikes had baskets (no one wants to wear a backpack in this weather), I tested out brakes, rusty gears, and tyres, and immediately pulled a skid in the middle of the park. The brakes work then. Unfortunately the saddle wouldn't go high enough (I've finally got used to my toes just skimming the ground when I sit on a bike), which was bound to start aching sooner or later. I gingerly followed Seedi, now a little suspicious of my new steed, along lots of nice cycle lanes that were completely separate from the road (take note Transport for London), with the occasional bit of practice at cycling on the right-hand side.

Our aim was to cycle to the top of La Isleta; a place called Las Coloradas, at 239 metres the city’s highest peak, on the port side of the city. I'm not trying to be nautical, there is a port there. Approaching from the industrial side of the hill brought its difficulties, namely that evidentally no one other than us is that bothered about getting to the top of the peak, because there isn't a straight road that goes up there. Cue lots of cycling to dead-ends that finish in warehouses, a few times sailing downhill (past groups of old men taking in the spectacle from a bench) only for us to find that there's just a roundabout and a wall at the end of the road and we have to trek back up the hill again. 'Nevermind', I gasp, 'I did say I needed the hill practice...'. At one point I was about to whimper about taking a break and/or going home and then thought better of it as I remember that the tables have turned in the past 6 months and Seedi is the one that hasn't cycled much in that time, while I'm the one that's about to cycle to Paris in a month (Panic! On Tuesday of this week it was one month to go). All the same, the heat was unbearable. I had sweat rolling down my calves (a first, though perhaps that's one of the rare aesthetic benefits of usually wearing the full length leggings) and wondered how long it would be until I threw up.

We changed tack and got out of the industrial bit of the port, and we were soon on the (very steep) road up to the top of the hill. The views were stunning, and a welcome reward for all our efforts and rickety bikes. Stopped for the obligatory camera poses and on our way to watch a para-glider circling over the shore on the other side of the hill. Cycled back up to the top of the peak and freewheeled all the way back down to the city for a well-earned beer.

I'm kidding. There's no flippin' way we cycled up here. The hike was a good thigh workout though...

This was the peak we actually cycled up. A little less impressive I guess.

A more relaxing way of getting 200 or so metres above sea level.

Good old sunny June



Look at the pool of water!



 

Not such an aBiding trip home

We needed a training opportunity and Eleanor Brown was the one to provide it. When she announced her engagement party was to be held in Chilworth, Surrey we hopped on our bikes (carefully pressed dresses and all), swung by to pick up our newest training recruit; Ruth Bide, and got on our way.

This was our second time to cycle back to our former stomping ground and it was a relief not to be struggling with the map all the time. Derby day wouldnt have been the best choice to travel through Epsom but we slalomed through the traffic with Ruth only getting hollered at by one old man. Getting a little over confident on the directions I swung us wrongly round a large junction at Leatherhead and on to a large dual carriageway leading on to the A3. We thought twice about this and sheepishly pushed our bicycles back along the verge to safety.

It was extremely pleasing to find that the hills that annihilated us on the previous trip were quite managable this time round. So much so that on the home straight we decided to take on the formidable Newlands Corner. Now anyone with any local knowledge will know what Newlands Corner had in store for us. It was long and tough and cars whizzed passed at speed, but we did it. We crawled to the top for a stunning view over the beautiful and often unsung Surrey countryside.

We were on rather good form having successfully made it up this looming hill, so much so that a passing cyclist come blog photographer (thanks very much for that) scarsely believed we'd cycled up.

Ruth and I reminisced about riding horses around there in years gone by. One particular escapade came to mind; when I had to ride an extremely excitable and completely unknown horse home from there - the horse box having broken down half way up the hill. Not being at all dressed for this activity in a skirt and spagetti top, for reasons of safety I was coersed in to wearing my mother's size 8 jeans (with flies forced open to maximum) and a riding hat so large that it rested on the bridge of my nose. I digress. You will see our attempts at cartwheeling for joy below (note the gel bum padding). 10 points for effort eh.
 

Clare

Ruth

All bikes now adorned with daisies (you can tell we brought the creative one along with us this time) we flew down the otherside of Newlands Corner with great delight and cruised the rest of the way home through Albury and Chilworth. We made it home in time for a leisurely home made lunch in the garden, which my wonderful mother had out ready for us.

What's more we shaved an hour off our previous time!

(plus 5 miles apparently - the benefits of Newlands Corner eh!)

Up hill to Downe

The clock is ticking and panic is starting to set in. So much so that we’ve blocked out every Wednesday night until the end of July and dedicated them to cycling the spitefully hilly parts of London. I think we’ve cracked it on stamina (I’ll regret saying that) but the hills are still proving a real (screaming) pain in the legs. And so Darius courageously agreed to take us out this week and, true to his word, showed us a route he has ridden with the Dulwich Paragon cycling group, which he goes out with from time to time.

7pm on a Wednesday evening and off the three of us set off, loaded to the gunnels with hastily ingested pasta (carb loading is an excellent incentive).

We set off strong through Herne Hill only to slow dramatically as we pressed on up the gradual yet significant incline to Crystal Palace. It is here that my awareness of our whereabouts ended, for within 10 minutes we were surrounded by thick countryside. Rolling hills covered in fields of wheat, single track country lanes with hardly a car passing us the entire trip. For Heaven’s sake we even had deer bounding in front of us. Now Darius had mentioned this countryside route before, but being a man born and bred in London, I had quickly dismissed it and taken him to mistake countryside for tree-lined, hanging-basketed suburbia. So I’ll say it;  Darius, I was wrong; and you were right.

A really beautiful evening to boot. Scarlet sunset to match our puce faces. Hills we asked for and hills we got. It was perhaps the shortest but deadliest perpetrating hill on which Kate had issues with her gears. Such was the incline; we came to a sharp halt as soon as we stopped pedalling. Luckily the problem was easily remedied, however a stab at a standing start was not entertained by this hill and it was necessary for Kate to cycle back down the hill and indeed a little way back up the one opposite in order to get up sufficient steam. By the time I exhaust each and every gear until I am crawling, slower than walking pace, to the slow approaching, much resisting summit - I am literally rasping with exhaustion. But the wonderful thing about hills is the (usual) long, flying, downhill payoff - and of these we are most appreciative. We sailed through some very picturesque villages, namely Downe of Charles Darwin fame.

Darius counted us down through the hills we had left to tackle, until those pleasing words ‘it’s flat all the way home’ came. Except that his memory didn’t serve him quite right and just as we were celebrating our very last leg and looking forward to a cup of tea, the worse of them all; Annerley Hill, loomed. A less jovial atmosphere saw us home safe and sound and very pleased not to have given up, got off and pushed.

35 miles in 3 hours aint bad after work on a Wednesday. Thanks Darius! You’re a marvellous guide.

You can find a link to our route here.