The Month of Muddy May

As I sploshed through puddles cringing at the feel of cold water dribbling down my socks, and I grappled at the brakes like a fumbling teenager, rotors squealing in horror and gears tutting at me with every change, I thought to myself; why do we hate riding in the wet? And more than that; why do we ride differently?

Me and my new riding partner had been cycling through puddles for at least half an hour by the time I had ask myself this question. My feet were already saturated with muddy water and my shoes made a squelching cry for help every time I pressed down on the pedals. So what was the point in avoiding the next half-an-hour stretch of puddles? It made no sense to, and yet, my brain insisted on steering me away from them, performing ridiculous manoeuvres that would have me whipped by unnaturally long grass at the side of the trail or skiing sideways towards a tree to avoid them.

The month is May. From my last blog you may have noted that rainfall has been high and riding in a short sleeved jersey through beams of sunlight breaking through trees on dusty dry trails is a distant memory. But, does this mean we are doomed to have crap riding sessions every time the weather is crap? No, is the answer to that, but it took me nearly an hour of riding through it to remember this.

I watched my riding buddy speed off on his new big-wheeled rigid single-speed and found myself cursing his name under my breath. Still weak from a hard road ride two days ago, I knew I was going to struggle to keep up with him, however, it didn’t help that I was riding like an amateur and avoiding puddles like an old lady on her way to the shops in her best dress. Things had to change, I thought. And so it began.

I powered straight through the middle of a puddle; heroic I thought. Nothing bad happened, so I did it to the next one. Yuk, that one was cold, but I’m still alive. Let’s try that again… and again… oh, that one was quite deep…and again… and, oh hello, I can see my buddy again! Yes, it’s amazing isn’t it?! Riding the fastest line through a trail, not avoiding puddles and constantly looking at what’s going on under your bike rather than what’s coming up ahead is actually quicker. I should have been a rocket scientist, me.

So what’s my point? You’ve probably got the end of this blog and either thought that this is obvious stuff and that I’m a “big girl” (or something more offensive), or you can relate to it. If the latter, it’s not because you’re rubbish (well, I don’t think so anyway), but maybe you understand that sometimes a rider can shy away from the mountain bike during bad weather and forget what it’s like to get muddy. Or maybe you’ve trained on the road bike and forgotten how to ride your first true love; the mountain bike. Or maybe you understand that a faint memory of your Mum telling you off for jumping in a puddle and getting your new shoes wet and muddy still haunts you now. Either way, it’s time to throw it aside and get filthy (steady boys)! Let me tell you, it’s quite a lot of fun. Unleash the inner kid in you and, especially if you’re racing, you’ll find yourself riding the right line and not fanny around trying to avoid things that your brain tells you are slower. Puddles are your friend, go and make some new ones! J  

Spring Has Sprung

So the calendar claims Spring kicked off two months ago, but frankly I’ve not seen any evidence of this other than the odd desperate daffodil drowning in torrential rain at the side of the road. The ground has been wet for as long as I can remember, and I can’t remember a time when I didn’t need to be hosed down outside my front door before entering my house in fear of making everything look like a swamp monster had recently staged some kind of dirty protest, and yet, there’s still a hose pipe ban?! Really?! Fine. I’ll collect the immense amount of Spring rain in my pressure washer and use that instead then. Anyway, I stray from the point and am at risk of this blog starting to sound negative… the point is, it’s here. The very fact that I’m moaning about rain and longing for expectant sunny days means it’s definitely Spring time. Why is it we cling to “that Spring” when there was a freak heat wave and think that every Spring up until this Spring was like that? I think it’s a little wishful thinking and a little self-delusion. Either way, yesterday showed a glimmer of what could be a fine end to a crappy Spring.

I rush home, following a distinctly horrible day at work, and suit up in shower-proof long sleeves and hold up a pair of clean shorts and a mud-spattered set of long-legged bibs. Hmmm. I couldn’t possibly wear the same bibs twice in a week, especially as they still bare the mud scars from the last outing. Despite wanting a little shin protection from cold rain water, and wanting the ability to peel the layer off at the end of the ride instead of scrubbing my shin raw in the shower and creating a scummy ring around my plughole, I chose the short shorts. It’ll toughen me up, I thought.

I slip my feet, complete with long socks and bare pasty winter legs, into my sorry-looking muddy cycling shoes and pull on my long-fingered gloves and mud-spattered helmet. A knock on the door. That’s my cue to look chirpy and up-for-it. I’m greeted by my cycling buddy in shorts with leg-warmers, two jerseys and a long-sleeve jacket over the top. His red and yellow shorts with blue and black panelling together with Look bike make for a clever Mondrian remark that I couldn’t quite think of.  Plus I catch a glimpse of my white legs poking out of what look like hot pants and decide not to start the ride that way.

It took a moment to realise, as my house is poorly situated for sunlight, but when I stepped out the front door it became overwhelmingly apparent that.. is it? Yes it is… it’s sunny! My riding partner frantically peels off his leg warmers making me feel instantly less conscious of my lilly-white pins as I click them into the pedals with a cloud of muddy dust coming from the shoes. And we’re off.

I’ve always said it; Swindon’s a wonderful place to cycle… when you get out of it. The roads were quiet. Perhaps everyone had flocked to the beer gardens in panic. The trees were suddenly fluffy with tiny green/brown buds that made them appear blurred from a distance. Fields were purple and yellow as crops reach for the blue skies, and there’s a distinct increase of greenery surrounding our chosen route. Ten minutes in and it’s clear that the long-sleeve jersey is over-kill. One long hill done and I’m thinking a sleeveless tri suit would still be over-kill (and ridiculous-looking. Sorry. You guys look like wrestlers.).

As I rolled back to my house over two hours later, the sun was barely setting, but still cast a warm orange glow on everything it touched. Half bare, half budding trees looked honey-roasted and crop fields appeared to be yielding gold. As the low-lying light strobed across my vision through a line of trees to the side of my road I realised it had been Spring all along. Spring is that awkward month that bridges Winter to Summer. I know Autumn does this too, but Autumn seems to be Summer winding down, yet Spring is never Winter warming up. It is wet, windy, and unpredictable and has us all incorrectly second-guessing its mood. It will be warm and sunny one day, and just when you walk out in your new short-sleeved t-shirt or that skirt you’ve been dying to wear, a monsoon will appear with near-freezing winds just to remind you that you’re not out of the seasonal slump just yet. And just when you’ve got used to peeling mtb-style mud off your road bike, you’ll step out in waterproofs to baking hot sunshine.

I like to think of Spring as the joker of the pack. The trick is laughing with it; otherwise you’ll feel mocked and full of hatred for it. Don’t do that, it’s far too long a season for this kind of attitude. Revel in its humour like the inappropriate Uncle at weddings, i.e. you know you’ll look back and laugh anyway so why get uptight about it. Besides, you need Spring to really appreciate a British Summer. You know what I mean.

Enjoy!