New to yacf, and new to write-ups, but here goes...!
I awoke to the sight of a light dusting of snow in the garden; spring conspicuous by its absence. With forecasts of further snow and ice, I was apprehensive about embarking on the Cambridge Pork Pie. However, it hadn’t been cancelled; it is the calendar event nearest to my house; and my mileage this year so far had been minimal. With the TAW and the TCR both looming on the horizon, I was keen to start getting some big distances covered in preparation for the summer ahead.
I caught the interview with Nick on the radio while making final preparations to my kit. Talk of the inclement weather, and recommendations for the control’s pies and cheese stuck in my mind.
Leaving home later than planned, I rode to Girton, without factoring in the headwind. Arriving at 8:00, I caught the end of the briefing at the village hall, with around 30 other intrepid souls. Soon after, I went back outside to discover my bike strewn on the tarmac, toppled by a gust. A brake lever was scuffed and twisted - only superficial damage, but not the best start. I fixed and faffed while most others began to depart. Donning my earphones, I cued-up a series podcasts to see me through the duration of the ride. My aim for the day was to ride solo, while trying to maintain an low/aerobic heart rate. This was intended as a means to gauge my current level of fitness after a winter of dormancy. Staring at a LCD and obsessing over a heart rate, in my mind, defeats the social nature of a calendar event. Going with the flow, meeting and chatting to others, and taking in the sights and sounds along the way is my preferred approach. But, I had slightly different intentions for the day ahead.
Heading out via familiar territory, along the silky smooth guided busway with a tailwind made for a pleasant first hour. In the lanes beyond St Ives, I began to notice the strength of the wind. Buffeted by crosswinds at every break in the hedgerow. These winds were supplemented with frequent snow showers - delivering a haze of tiny, abrasive flakes in a sideways trajectory, exfoliating any exposed bits of skin. For once, I was suitably attired, and I was feeling comfortable despite the conditions.
I reached Oundle after about 2 hours - its Georgian architecture and limestone buildings reminiscent of a miniature Bath. An hour later came the magnificent sight of Welland Viaduct, with its countless (82) arches spanning the view ahead. This was followed by a sharp climb, and a cautious descent - heeding the warning given during the briefing about the mud and ice at its base. Despite the sub-zero conditions, this was the only sketchy section of road I encountered throughout the day.
Between Whissendine and Melton Mowbray, the road was single track with the infrequent squeeze of an oncoming car. During one such encounter, as I pulled over onto a jagged verge, I heard and felt a awkward thunk from my back wheel, but this was not followed by the hiss of rapidly escaping air. I’d got away with it, or so I’d thought, until about 1km later the bike went mushy. I came to a halt, and set about the repair. I was travelling light: a small multi-tool, tyre levers, a spare tube, a stash of patches, two pairs of nitrile gloves, and three CO2 cartridges. A few minutes into the repair, I began to become aware of just how cold it was. A well rehearsed routine was becoming a struggle. The lightweight, foldable tyre was flailing in the wind and refused to resemble a circle, while the slightly inflated inner tube was doing its own wild dance. The longer that this continued, the colder and less dexterous my hands became, and I was beginning to doubt my ability to complete the task in hand. Eventually, I managed to reunite the unwieldy trinity (tyre, tube, and rim), and was grateful for the ease and immediacy of the CO2 inflator. Back on the road, I reached Melton Mowbray around 10 minutes later, and looked for the nearest bike shop to buy a spare tube, preempting similar grief on the return leg.
The lure of town’s cafes was strong, but I resisted their charms. Comfort is relative. Although it was cold, I wasn’t uncomfortable, and I didn’t desire the type of re-calibration which would inevitably occur when stepping out of a warm cafe to return to a baltic bike. So I treated myself to a cereal bar in the foyer of Melton Mowbray’s Halfords, and set-off back to Cambridge.
Out of the town, the route quickly returned to quiet country lanes, with lots of short climbs and expansive views of rolling countryside. Dark clouds loomed ominously in the distance, and it was only a matter of time before I encountered the next wave of icy exfoliant. The wind was relentless throughout, with branch-strewn roads becoming a recurring sight.
At around 3pm Welland Viaduct came back into view, and not long after I made a quick stop in Barnwell to refill my bidon with Yazoo. Sugar-infused-milk and cereal bars constituted my fuel of choice for this ride. On reflection, this was probably not the best nutrition strategy, as I was on the fringes of the bonk when I finally reached Girton, shortly after 6pm. I was greeted with the same warm welcome from Nick and Ewa as I remembered from last year. Throughout the day, I reminded myself that no matter how bad it got, at the end of it all there would be soup, cake, tea, and conversation - and it didn’t disappoint!
Thank you Nick, Ewa, Ben for bringing this together again, and for your fantastic hospitality.
