Sunday. Jim and I are just loading up the bikes when the owner of West Down Farm B and B (recommended by the way) presented me with a donation for the cause. This matched her generosity from the previous night when she hung my cycling shorts up in the conservatory. Pretty brave as I had beat them into submission with a knobbly stick only half hour previously. Gave the missus (or Lady Elizabeth Groves as she is sometimes known) a kiss and we're off. Lady Groves? Ah! Let me explain.
Our friend Alison (think Victoria Wood on speed) edits Spanish-English dictionaries for Oxford University Press. She needs to use examples and this is where we come in. This is the sort of thing you might see in the 2003 edition:
"Lady Elizabeth Groves and Professor Chris Oliver enjoyed Champagne (pronounced shampayne, note the silent g) at the Queen's Garden Party. The Queen Mother was radiant (pronounced bladdered, note the soft g in 'pint of gin and tonic')"
That sort of thing. Anyway, I digress. We're off! After about 40km we start to race. Not me and Jim of course, we're not into that. We just inadvertently joined the route of an "Ironman" race and suddenly we're right in the middle! Me and Jim! Ironmen! So, we climb up the stiff hill with the best of them and we're actually doing OK amongst the energy gel fuelled competitors. I've liberated a couple of bananas from the B and B communal fruit bowl and I've long suspected Jim's holding out on the trailmix so we're no match on that front but there aren't many Ironmen passing us. And then .... we overtake Ironman number 1028 who is walking! Ha! Eat our dust Ironman 1028! Me and Jim! Ha! We crested (as they say on Le Tour) to applaud from a lone woman. Jim shouted "We're only out for a Sunday jaunt!" Her applaud faded a bit and I made a mental note to introduce her to Victoria (she of the form episode). Now there's a woman who'd know how to celebrate our Ironman victory.
A long, hot, tough day. 150 km and some very steep and punishing hills. Here's the boastful bit .... neither of us stopped on any hill, none of 'em, not one, nada. Not even the last lungbursting, leg wobbling, stem biter leading into Bath that we both thought we just couldn't do. Eat your heart out 1028, eat your heart out (either that or have a banana).
Sorry to say goodbye to Jim at Bath station. Mine of information on the history and geography of Devon. So long 'til we meet the ironmen again Jim.
Those ride stats in full:
Distance: 149.54 km
Cumulative distance: 378.20 km
Ride time: 7h 46m 11s
Max speed: 56.8 km
Left arm: browner
Right arm: Neopolitan (from top to bottom: white, pink, red, very red, brown)
Our friend Alison (think Victoria Wood on speed) edits Spanish-English dictionaries for Oxford University Press. She needs to use examples and this is where we come in. This is the sort of thing you might see in the 2003 edition:
"Lady Elizabeth Groves and Professor Chris Oliver enjoyed Champagne (pronounced shampayne, note the silent g) at the Queen's Garden Party. The Queen Mother was radiant (pronounced bladdered, note the soft g in 'pint of gin and tonic')"
That sort of thing. Anyway, I digress. We're off! After about 40km we start to race. Not me and Jim of course, we're not into that. We just inadvertently joined the route of an "Ironman" race and suddenly we're right in the middle! Me and Jim! Ironmen! So, we climb up the stiff hill with the best of them and we're actually doing OK amongst the energy gel fuelled competitors. I've liberated a couple of bananas from the B and B communal fruit bowl and I've long suspected Jim's holding out on the trailmix so we're no match on that front but there aren't many Ironmen passing us. And then .... we overtake Ironman number 1028 who is walking! Ha! Eat our dust Ironman 1028! Me and Jim! Ha! We crested (as they say on Le Tour) to applaud from a lone woman. Jim shouted "We're only out for a Sunday jaunt!" Her applaud faded a bit and I made a mental note to introduce her to Victoria (she of the form episode). Now there's a woman who'd know how to celebrate our Ironman victory.
A long, hot, tough day. 150 km and some very steep and punishing hills. Here's the boastful bit .... neither of us stopped on any hill, none of 'em, not one, nada. Not even the last lungbursting, leg wobbling, stem biter leading into Bath that we both thought we just couldn't do. Eat your heart out 1028, eat your heart out (either that or have a banana).
Sorry to say goodbye to Jim at Bath station. Mine of information on the history and geography of Devon. So long 'til we meet the ironmen again Jim.
Those ride stats in full:
Distance: 149.54 km
Cumulative distance: 378.20 km
Ride time: 7h 46m 11s
Max speed: 56.8 km
Left arm: browner
Right arm: Neopolitan (from top to bottom: white, pink, red, very red, brown)
Back at work looking in envy and admiration at Chris' progress. The really difficult bit I imagine is the daily grind, no matter how enjoyable each day may be.I did have a fantasy about re-joining him for the last 3 days (like joining a marathon for the last 6 miles)but £400 of rail fare put paid to that.
ReplyDeleteMy observation about the Ironmen of Devon is how, what I presume are normal upright citizens feel that it is OK to dispose of their rubbish at will. The hill up which Chris and I blistered the opposition (well rider 1028) was strewn with empty water bottles and energy sachets. I bet they would not normally think of throwing away as much as a lolly stick, off their colour coordiated bike and lycra.
With any bike ride there are ups and downs, literally. You know that with any struggle up comes a compensating down However I must say that there is a dreaded hill just on the edge of the Devon town of Great Torrington, the worst of the lot in the many we climbed,which certainly challenged my hill climbing ability. We never saw the "down". I am left with that nagging feeling, like a piece of chocolate that you left somewhere but can't find,that we missed the down somewhere. I still feel cheated 2 days later.
Jim