It’s been snowing a bit here this week. Well more than a bit really: Clicky for News Nuggets.
The thing is with snow riding as this chap will tell you is that it’s either really ace or really shite with not much in between.
Anyways with 305 miles to do I figured I’d brave the *ahem* inclement weather and for a spin. The plan was the Reservoir Raid Classic coming in at 12ish miles the reality was more than a little different:
I layered up, then layered up a bit more. Winter boots on my feet, thick gloves on my paws, normal buff round my neck and a thermal one under my lid to keep my ears toasty. Suited up in thick lycra like a portly Power Ranger I slung my camelbak and swung my leg over the plastic mistress to head out.
Off the main road turning down the narrow terraces the surface reformed from black traffic ground slush to tyre packed crunchy snow with a surprising amount of grip. Back onto Thorpe Lane to safe clear tarmac spinning and after a few drivers decided that 30 seconds of their time was worth more than a future lifetime of mine I turned onto the gypsy road. And promptly hit the deck hard, seemingly hitting the only hard bit of ground for acres around. Rubber side down again I set off along snow a few inches deep hiding the broken and pot holed black top beneath.
I reached the usual entrance to the field and there was no sign of the usual trail anywhere. No tyre tracks, no foot prints or even the tiny paws of our semi-urban local small mammals. I made a rough approximation of where I usually roll and set off. I pedaled for a few feet then it was off and pushing time:
In places the snow was hub deep and always at least ankle deep:
oooh cold toes
The last section before heading over to Real Radio HQ was at least rideable and I rode out heading for the farm. On the junction to the main road I bumped into a good friend who (through both our faults) I’d not seen for longer than we both cared to admit too. I told him of the career swap, his marriage, my marriage and as much as we both could quickly in the bloody cold. With heartfelt promises to catch up for a beer soon I kicked the pedals and set off again.
Up to the farm was hard going sticking to the deep snow where at least I had traction. On the shallower stuff the mud tyres were digging to the ice below making it hard to keep the steed upright. I kept going having to spin the 32 rear sprocket but at least keeping out of the front chainwheel of shame.
Faded Mill Town Glory
Thankfully incident free but thoroughly knackered I made it onto the housing state nearby and rolled on glad to be back on roads again. I followed the rest of the route through in my head weighing up the roll to push ratio and deciding what to do. As I mentally railed every remaining corner, stormed every hill and still had enough breath and composure left enough to be charming to the last I realised it would be a bloody slog.
I made the decision to trundle up to Pete’s to see if I could blag a cuppa whilst we caught up. Pete should have been at work but the with the recent white out I figured as a School Caretaker there was a good chance he would be at home. As I pulled onto another suburban collection of lego houses I spied my old riding buddy plodding along amongst the deep snow. “What the bloody hell are you doing out in this?” we cried in almost union. With the opportunity to delay a thankless errand we headed back to his home and I was treated to hot tea and delicious treats:
Fueling up for the slog home
After we had set the world to rights I donned my lycra armor and headed home a few miles bagged but not as many as I would have hoped.
Miles ridden: 5.41
Miles left: 299.92
Fat Lad
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