On the trail to recovery part 3

As we rest having raced our way to the top of the last red north loop descent, my mind is becoming clear. I know what is about to happen, I know this section of trail really well and know exactly where I’m going to hit just pure moments of ultimate joy. I recollect to when Rich at cyclewise told me to smile as I hit the steering wheel sticking out of the ground. Every time I go past this odd landmark I can’t help but smile. He’s right. The landscape in front just opens up to the surrounding dramatic mountains. It becomes breezy and it cleanses all thought from your mind. Just have fun. It invites you in, lulls you into a false sense of security. Obviously you still need to focus on your skill but this view, this point in time, your mind is clear. Free.

I let Alix go first. Not only is she very fast on this section but we have come to a conclusion that I’m cursed if I ride in front of her. I always seem to fall, whether this is magic or just plain paranoia I do not know but it is a rule none the less when we’re riding together. As expected she whizzes off on her luminous pink bike. She looks so cool. She should be in a mountain bike DVD. I’m left on my own. At one with the trail, hitting berms, humps and bumps. I feel my wheels leave the ground and get that lurching feeling in my stomach that everyone feels when they’re out of control. It excites me; I land with my weight centred towards the back of the bike. The next bump and the same thing occurs yet with less of a lurching. I’m enjoying this. My speed continues to grow, my confidence growing alongside it. Like neatly aligned seedlings on an allotment. I hit a rocky berm, it’s rutted and I take it easy, spotting my exit. Awesome. I nail it. Carrying on, I know that there is one awesome section left but before that a bit of a technical section. A triple jump, a table top and another steep berm. This section is annoying. It shouldn’t slow me down but it does, interrupts the flow. Next is the bit I’ve been waiting for. The hundred plus metres worth of little jumps. It’s awesome! I get so much air. I ride round the corner completing the last little section where Alix is waiting.

She’s covered head to toe in mud spots. She looks ill but she’s grinning, I’m exactly the same. Maybe we’re just ill in the head. Its odd how a couple of girls are happy about being covered in grime, sweat and soaked right through to the skin. I guess our minds just need entertaining differently to the ordinary girls sat at home reading beauty magazines. I feel tired, a couple of weeks off the bike and it really shows, but I’ve rekindled the fire that burns inside me. My passion for hurling down a mountain side on a bike. I want to push my riding harder than ever before and, next time I have a fall, I’ll be hopping straight back on. People say recovery is hard but the way I see it is its just progression. If I continue to have days like these I don’t think that recovery will ever be a problem.

Autumn light and water

Below is a short piece describing a first time in a play boat for myself. Hope it makes you smile.

Autumn light and water.

The colours are changing. A brown orange glow eminates from the hills. The crispness of the day draws us in. The tourists are out in full force. A combination to please and upset any student about to partake in a little adventure.

Bill and I speed along the narrow Lake District Lanes, hoping we can bag ourselves a cheeky, free parking space. Our prayers are answered and quickly I reverse into a space outside the Skelwith Bridge hotel. Chelsea tractors roar past, devastated that two students have the last free space. They have more money than sense.

We unload the boats anxious to get onto the water. Changing was difficult as always but well worth the fun we’d be having in the next few minutes. Dodging car wing mirrors with our boats, the excitement grows. Signs pointing towards Skelwith force lead us on, and we see it. The perfect little wave. A narrowing in the rock and this spot is ours. We scramble down the steep embankment to put on. I worry, my boat looks awfully small and unforgiving but this is precisely why I bought it.

Exactly what I thought. Tippy, very responsive. I was uncertain of it at first but as the afternoon progressed and two swims later, I was powering into the wave, unafraid of the uncertainty.

What was interesting about this particular place was the amount of people watching. Intrigued by the sight of our Kayaks. Intrigued by this magical place. Nature. The flora and fauna. It wouldn’t have surprised me if fairies had come out to play. The water was crisply cool, that first winter bite taking it’s toll on your fingers.

Nevertheless, we continued to play, paddling hard into the flow, dipping my nose in, throwing my weight forwards and quickly back. The rush this gave you, although a simple technique to master, was amazing. The weight of the water pushing my bow felt good. It felt controlled. Balanced.

My arms begin to feel heavy. I know it’s time to get off the water but Bill is having so much fun. It would be hard to pull him away. It was hard to pull myself away. We clamber up the steep slippy embankment with our craft on our shoulders. An old man waits at the top. His inquisitive nature makes me smile and I wait to answer his question.

“What are these then?” His eyes glancing from mine to Bills brightly coloured boats.

“Kayaks!” I reply, “They’re shorter to help us play in waves”.

I’m pretty certain this makes no sense to him but we head off. Plodding in wet gear. We change on the roadside with southern tourists giving us the evil glance. Autumn is my favourite.

Worry

Below is a piece I wrote a couple of months ago, make what you will of it, I feel it's time it got published. Thanks.

Worry

Once again she worries. She feels as if he’s brushing her away, becoming bored, weary. Annoyed by the rolling complaints about life that she seems to make now she’s with him. Anxious that he’ll leave her. Like this. This is certainly not the case.

He’s actually just really busy working on a presentation due for the next day. He hasn’t even had tea yet. He should’ve done some work on it earlier on in the week. When she was busy, when she was doing her work. But he still thinks of her, worried that she’s upset, that he hasn’t made the time to see her. It certainly looks that way. It looks like he doesn’t care. Care for her needs or even why she’s with him. In his mind he asks the question ‘If he wanted to be with her that much then why does he think that he’s making it seem like he has no care for her?’

She later questions why she is taking this seriously? It’s only been 3 and a half weeks. She can’t help but feel she’s around him too much. Pressing on him, making him feel enclosed, trapped. She lies on her bed mixed in her thoughts as he continues to type and rehearse away. The thoughts slowly begin to take over the words flowing into her mind from the book she’s reading. She’s tired. He worries still, feeling bad. She tells him not to. This is important.

It’s not healthy for either of them.

So why do they do it? It’s an instinct I guess.

On the trail to recovery part 2

I hear my breath and my heart beating hard in my chest. It’s unnerving, the lactic acid beginning to build in my muscles and causing an uncomfortable pain on the inside of my legs. I ride towards the top of the first ascent of the blue loop. My eyes unfocussed, damn I’m unfit. It’s demoralising, how could I have lost this amount of fitness within 2 weeks?

“So which way do we go?” Alix looks confused as signs point in all directions, there is some trail maintenance in progress and we don’t know which one’s to believe or not. We head out on one trail, it feels more like a descent than an ascent and our questions were answered as two young men hurtle towards us. I notice something catching on my tyre and get off quickly to fix it.

“Hey, you’re going the wrong way, you need to turn round and take the fire track to the top of this” The first, typically Cumbrian lad points upwards.

We had cycled a kilometre for nothing, to be turned around again.

“Are you ok with that?” His accent hinted that he was Spanish, and his olive skin and dark hair confirmed this. Pointing at my bike with his gloved hand. He looked beautiful and in my stupidity I declined any help, “I’m fine, it’s just my tyre catching.”

They cycle off and I kick myself. I could have played the damsel in distress and Alix wants to punch me just as much as I want to punch myself. We decide to wait until they’re a good way in front of us and turn back on ourselves and find the fire track that would take us back up to the very top of the blue ascent.

The trail is littered with families, tentatively riding their hire bikes, stopping frequently for moody Lillie and sulky James. This is half term in the Lake District. Steam rises from flasks of hot tea or coffee whilst sandwiches are distributed amongst the family members. They’re dressed in the fashionable sports apparel that you can get in shops such as sports soccer and JJB, their socks tucked into their trousers whilst an uncomfortably long coat clings to their behind, soaking in this damp weather.

The tall oaks that surround us look spectacular in the cool light, whilst Ewe and Beech trees cover the course of the single track trail all the way to the very top.

My legs continue to burn but Alix insists that I go at the front because I set a good training pace, it’s fast for both of us. We look down the descent; it looks fair intimidating with the berms not looking very substantial. I attack these with caution, not knowing how much I can throw into it. Overall I was not that impressed with this section. It didn’t feel very well constructed and it disappointed me. Everything else as Whinlatter was almost perfection. Next, was a better section, heading down through Pine trees, the Berms becoming much steeper sided and swooping, my bike glides round, it feels awesome.



Need for a coffee calls and we decide to hit the Whinlatter visitor centre and from there we would cycle up to the top of the last red descent, our favourite. We stop off at Go Ape and call in to chat to Iain and onto cyclewise where we receive free tea and coffee and have a chat with Matt. It’s great to know the people here, there are many perks. We head back out into the cold dampness and start on the fire track ascent of the red North loop.

When riding this section, you feel very much at one with the world. Pine trees wrap themselves around you and the white warmth of your breath is the only thing that seems to be moving in the environment. The black, slate gravel below crunching, disrupting the peace. It’s calming and helps you to focus on the ascent, the burning sensation in your lungs and the ever present dizzying effect on your eyes.

Alix and I practise riding with our hands off our handlebars, she seems to be extremely talented at this, her core stability much better than mine. She laughs as I nearly plummet to the ground after getting off balance.

“Bex, be careful, don’t want a repeat of the last time you fell off your bike.” She giggles.

“Nah, neither do I, I don’t want to be out of action again for two weeks!” I feared the thought of being inactive for a long period of time. It scared me. I was not only hurt physically, but, mentally too. My riding as a result of this previous fall had somewhat fallen short of the mark, I had lost all my skill I had been building up over the summer. I pushed this thought behind me and carried on to the top. My lungs ever burning.

On the trail to recovery

As autumn sets in and the colours change from green to yellow to red I find myself sitting in my damp student house with a cold. The walls are staining with a yellow orangey tinge and water occasionally drips onto the carpet. It’s driving me insane. Autumn’s meant to be bold, crisp and fresh, not grey and mouldy green. My nose is running and my throat feels like it’s had a razor blade scraped down it. I know there must be something better I could do than be miserable. My bike sits underneath a load of washed and clean tea towels, the muddy handlebars not an ideal place for something that’s meant for reasons of hygiene. I remove them and place them on the airer where they’re supposed to be. I glance at my bike, it glances back at me.

“Take me out” it cries. Either my bike spoke to me or I’m really ill. I don’t know but it gaveme a brilliant idea.

It was impulsive; the wheels are removed and carted downstairs. In the mean while I phone Alix. She’s free and this just makes my day. I hurriedly pull on my biking shorts and a thermal and stuff a load of dry clothes, lubricant for my chain and knee pads into a reusable Shopping Bag. I grab my keys and I’m out the door faster than you can blink an eye.

I call at Alix’s door with my hazards blinking away because it’s a narrow street. The grey, sooty feeling of the town imposing, crushing down on me. She’s not ready and runs around to grab her stuff. Luckily her bike is out of the cellar so I take it outside and begin to take off the wheels. I untie the straps that had tied my bike on in the first place, people drive past giving me funny looks. What have I done now? The bikes are on and, listening to Linkin Park and Sum 41 in true teenage style, we sit and talk excitedly about the day and about events gone by. It’s been a while since I last saw Alix so we have a lot to talk about. Within 10 minutes we’re laughing our heads off, reminiscing on practical sessions gone by, we always laugh.

The drizzle hits the windscreen and coats it so much so that it’s hardly worth having the wipers on but I need them. I never get bored of the grey clouds in the Lake District. It’s a different kind of grey to civilisation. It suits the spirit of the place so well, so much more inspiring than my damp town house. I love the feeling of how being out of the box suddenly makes you feel ten times better. The rain continues to pester us always falling, never ceasing. I like the feeling of still being able to go out in the damp and still have fun. We don’t need fair weather.

Driving up the narrow road to Whinlatter forest I become excited, the trees enclose around us and I can smell the faint tinge of pine and fresh, damp, autumn air. The leafy lane provides some entertainment, Sunday drivers not knowing that we drive on the left hand side in this country and walkers being cast aside as I drive faster. They should know to walk in single file. But these people don’t know the etiquette of the outdoors. Why are they here?

We pull up in the Masmill car park; it’s right on the new blue graded trail route. And what’s more is that it’s free! Next to us is what I can describe as a happy family. Baby screaming, parents laughing, grandparents fussing. The smell of barbeque wafting our way from the picnic benches below us. They’re dressed in typical woolly jumpers and macs, the “wannabe” country folk. Their leather walking boots with exposed woolly socks and matching woolly hats and fingerless gloves. It’s like going back to a distant time. Family holiday. It sparks an amazing idea for the next full day Alix and I have off University. A girly ride with after party barbeque. Sounds perfect doesn’t it?

We wolf down our cheap sausage rolls, the taste tasting more like bread than sausage. I put my wheels back on my bike, not knowing instinctively how tight they should be. I always have to check. I’ll learn. Alix is good to go too. The smell of GT85 fills my lungs and I’m happy. On with the ascent!