Aka: The agony and the (more) agony!
160km from Clowne, 24th September, 2004.
1.75 AAA points
Due to various commitments in September, the first weekend I had a available for an Audax turned out to be that of the 24th. Looking at the Audax Calendar, the closest ride to home was that being offered by Clive Wilman from Clowne; Two rides were on offer, a 100km (0.75AAA) and a 160km (1.75AAA). I would have liked to have done a 200 this month to keep up a string of monthly 200's but that was not to be.... I thought the inclusion of some AA points would make up for the lack of distance – I can always do a Round the Year Randoneur series next year.
This was my fourth Audax and I was getting into the swing of things. I did not forget anything this time (or so I thought), especially remembering the emergency jelly baby and marshmallow anti “bonk” rations. The weather forecast for the 24th did not look good; it alternated from “wind and rain” to “wind and rain” with occasional abortive attempts at “cloudy with showers” during the preceding week. However, “there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing”, I had decided to go, and that was that! All was set the night before with the bicycle loaded into the car, final checks made, chain lubricated, brakes and gears checked, all nuts and bolts checked for tightness, water bottles ready for filling and porridge prepared for the morning.
Saturday morning dawned bright and promising and I set off for Clowne just after 7am where I reassembled the bicycle and signed in for my Brevet Card. There were about 20 riders on the Audax, some of whom I had met before. Mike Wigley was riding again as well as a fellow from the bike shop in Clitheroe who I had met on the Roses to Wrags Audax. Tiho and Jutta were out on their tandem again.
After a last minute warning from Clive to watch the descents after the climbs out of Ambergate (this sounded ominous and, indeed, proved to be very ominous indeed...) we all set off on the first 38km leg to Ambergate. This was a pleasant section, lumpy with some stunning views but never needing the granny gear. We headed down the B6417, past Stoney Houghton, across the A617 and through Pilsley to cross the A61 onto the A6103. Then right onto the A610 to Ambergate. I paired up with a rider from Leeds who turned out to be a Housing Association planning officer and we passed some time talking about rides he had done north of Leeds and work he was doing in Sheffield. The third randoneur named Graham joined us to make a trio but I unfortunately did not get to speak to him much before the lumpiness of the later half of the course tended to keep us in line rather than abreast. After 90 minutes of fair weather and good progress, Ambergate with its pleasant little cafe hove into view. We dived in to have cards stamped and to replenish calorie stores. I ordered tea and a chocolate crisp cake.
After about 15 minutes, the three of us decided to get under way before cooling down too much. “Out of the cafe, turn left and then first right” said the instructions. There started a long, steep climb which necessitated the use of the granny gear for the first time to winch the bicycle out of the valley. All went well until, just at the top of the climb, I changed up the gears and found than I was suddenly on the small sprocket at the back with no response from the shifter at all! The gear cable had snapped. I had no spare and neither did my colleagues. The prospect of doing a 1.75 AA Audax on a single speed weighing in at 17+ kg could not be contemplated so I reluctantly bade farewell to my companions and turned round to descend the hill. Half way down I met Mike Wigley who sympathised with my plight. Most of the rest of the Audax group were also passed on the way down. I called into the cafe again to inquire if there was a local bicycle shop – the nearest turned out to be in Ripley, about 10km uphill in the wrong direction. At this stage I felt that I would have to abandon the ride and head back to Clowne but Audax Madness had set in and I put the rear dérailleur onto the middle sprocket and set off for the delights of Ripley. I eventually found the cycle shop, bought a cable and set about replacing the broken one. After a bit of a struggle to get the bits of the old cable out, I had functioning gears again. The trip back to Ambergate was done in record time but I was now still at the first control; it was almost 11am, I was over an hour behind the last riders, 25 minutes out of time and I knew there were some big hills to come! I felt I had no hope of catching any of the guys in front and really should have retired back to Clowne. But, as I said, Audax Madness had set in and I rashly committed myself to a lonely hard Audax. After slogging back up the hill to the Antenna farm at the top, I tried the brakes and found I had lost a rear brake pad – I had not packed any spare brake blocks either. (Note to self: always carry extra brake/gear cables and brake pads in future!). It started to rain. On the way down, Clive's ominous warning came to fruition – going down a particularly steep section – Storer Lane, I think it was - struggling to control my speed, I hit a patch of very wet mud and lost control of the front wheel at about 20mph. Then followed that surreal experience where impressions jumble and unreality steps in. Somehow I sailed over the handlebars and crossbar in a graceful arc to land travelling head first down the road with a bicycle trailing after. I felt my left hip and helmet scraping on the road. I remember thinking: “Thank God for my helmet – it has prevented major facial roadrash.” My left shoulder then ploughed into the verge, bringing the whole show to an abrupt stop. The bicycle flew off into a tangled heap, the water bottles parting company. Suddenly everything became still – only a steady drip, drip to be heard from the trees. Then I felt the pain, pain and more pain. My left hip hurt, my chest and left shoulder felt as if they had been skewered with a red hot poker, breathing was difficult and painful and I simply could not move. I said: “Bugger!” and promptly felt even more depressed for lack of self control! After about 5 minutes of tentative experimentation I managed to gently untangle myself and re-arrange my body parts on the verge into a semblence of order. I then had the luxury of writhing around and groaning for a bit before eventually struggling to my feet to survey the damage. The verge looked a bit worse for wear and dented, missing a sizable shoulder shaped divot but I surmised that it could take care of itself with time... After clearing away chunks of turf and other sundry vegetation from the bicycle, it appeared that both gear levers were bent awry and the top tube was dented. Fortunately, the wheels were still true and there did not seem to be any other obvious damage. My clothing was intact - the waterproof jacket was covered in mud and debris but otherwise no worse for wear. My Assos bib shorts are bomb proof and worth every penny! For myself, breathing was difficult and painful but I tentatively localised this to the Sterno-clavicular joint and pectoralis muscles; I did not think that ribs were broken or the lung damaged. My shoulder was also very sore and I had difficulty moving my arm properly but I determined that the clavicle was probably not broken, the shoulder joint was intact and the pain appeared to be due to a chest wall bruise and a sprain of the acromio-clavicular joint (at least, so the optimistic me hoped at the time!) Now, any sensible, well balanced, sane person would have cut their losses and returned to civilisation but, as I have said, the Madness had taken hold. I gingerly climbed back on the bicycle after forcing straight the gear/brake levers using my good leg and right hand. The bicycle seemed to go in a straight line so I guessed it must be OK. In the cycling position, the pain in the shoulder eased a little but any attempt to straighten up or move the left hand off the handlebars resulted in a wave of nausea that threatened to floor me again. All hope I had of catching any other riders was now completely dashed and I felt it unlikely that I would finish in time at all. I limped on through Kirk Ireton and past Carsington Water, gradually trying to get into a rhythm and pick up speed. The next stretch through Dovedale was hell. It was decidedly lumpy, my rear dérailleur cable was still bedding in and had therefore stretched slightly so changing was less than smooth but I could not bring myself to get off and adjust it. The only vaguely comfortable position was on the drops or hoods and with a stiff neck restricting the view somewhat; I learned that cow pat comes in all sorts of colours; brown, green, turquoise and many shades in between. When it gets older, it fades into a dark gray and sometimes black. The actual route is beautiful, almost traffic free and well surfaced but I cannot say I appreciated it much on the day. I stopped in Thorpe for a few minutes to guzzle some marshmallows and phoned home to tell advise where I was, that I was last, at least an hour and a half late and suffering. “Turn right off the A523 and cross the river by the footbridge, not the ford” were the instructions. Only just made it across on the bicycle over the slippery planks and into the mud and poodles without another rendezvous with the turf. By the time I got to the next Info Control at Calton I felt pretty despondent and marked my card 13 minutes out of time.
The route then drops back down to the A523 before turning north at WaterHouses. In WaterHouses, you have to turn left into Cross Lane which peters out into a bridle way before joining Pethills lane. The surface was uncomfortable. Pethills lane is the start of the Staffordshire Moorlands section. This was a long curving continuously climbing road on a very exposed landscape. The road forms the south western boundary of the Peak National Park. The wind had now come up with a vengeance, initially a headwind, then eventually a cross wind. It was raining horizontal stair rods. I had to close my left eye to prevent enucleation. My left foot became soaked in short order while the right did not. Upright cycling was not possible with various degrees of lean required to counter the wind. Fog descended. Near the top of the climb, the road appeared to be on a ridge with shear drops on either side glimpsed through occasional breaks in the fog. After a 2km section where the road again turned straight into the wind came the crossing of the A53 Leek road and the last few km of climbing to the next info control in Flash – the highest village in England. Miracle of Miracles – I was 2 minutes inside time for the control – there was a chance I might actually finish this Audax after all. The signpost on the boundary of Flash proudly announces that it is the highest English village at 1518 feet asl or something but the road then continues to climb a further 100ft to the village proper – most discouraging.
After Flash the route turned West giving a tail wind. There were several downhill sections to Longnor although the roads were not grand prix quality and I took them at moderate speed, any faster and the shaking would cause severe discomfort to my bruised members. What goes down goes back up. After descending down into Dovedale again at Crowdicote there was a nasty little climb back up to the A515. Somewhere along this leg, breaks appeared in the cloud cover and the rain stopped. I was able to laboriously doff the waterproof at last. Eventually, after crossing the A515 there was a very pleasant, fast, smooth little descent into Monyash and the last cafe control which, of course, I overshot! As I pulled up after the obligatory end of leg U turn, I saw a row of bicycles parked up outside. When I entered, I discovered that not only was I in time for the control but I had caught up with 4 of the tail enders of the Audax who were just tucking into Chip Butties. After 90 km alone on the hills I at last had company again, and that lifted the spirits somewhat! I had my card stamped, ordered tea, bacon butty and cake and limped over to join the company. The food arrived just in time for me to bolt it down and leave with the others. I would sincerely recommend this cafe as an obligatory stop for anyone passing through Monyash, not only because of the relief I found there but also for the quality of the tea and food. I am informed that the proprietor is also an accomplished musician.
Having company again renewed my energy and enthusiasm for the rest of the ride. At first I cycled with Oliver Wright who organises the Grindleford Grimpeur, chatting about his grimpeur, occupations, better halves and GPS navigation. The route took us past Sheldon, down a very steep descent to cross the A6 and past Ashford in Water and Great Longstone. After turning north at Haddon, I paired up with a fellow from Hope, a partnership that lasted to the end of the Audax. We talked about his cycling – Audaxes, camping holidays in the Western Isles of Scotland and generally passing the time as we tramped the more familiar ground closer to home; the climb up Froggat edge and the saunter through Owler Bar, Holmesfield, Dronfield Woodhouse, Dronfield and Coal Aston.
The final info control was duly noted in Apperknowle leaving the last 13km leg through Staveley to Clowne. By now I was feeling pretty numb all over (unless I tried to indicate left, took a deep breath or tried to get up and honk...) and flying on automatic pilot.
Turning into the Clowne control was a great relief. Clive was waiting at the door to greet us. I gingerly extracted myself from the bicycle and went inside to very welcome cups of tea and superb sandwiches! The 3 final randoneurs turned up about 15 minutes later and all were then accounted for. Mike Wigley was still at the control drinking tea and we caught up with events before parting company.
Loading the bicycle into the car was not a simple affair. Driving home required gear changing with the left hand – Its amazing how few times you really have to change gear if you put your mind to it. I made it home just in time for a soup and roll tea. No sympathy from Jennifer or the girls, only ultimatums: “You will never do this again!” Only my son, who I am slowly trying to indoctrinate with a “cycling is good” mantra kept his peace. It was only the next day after a fitful night's sleep that I really felt the full effects of the day's misadventure. Everything ached. It still hurt to take deep breaths. My left shoulder looked decidedly bigger and bluer than the right. My left hip was swollen and there was a spreading bruise extending down the outside as far as the knee. Only the rear end was completely unaffected - the combination of Brooks Saddle, suspension seat post and Assos bib shorts make long distances seem like outings in a Rolls in that department. Surprisingly, I found that even my jaw ached. Not having hurt my jaw in any way in the fall, I did not understand why until I realised that it must be the result of 80km of gritted teeth!
Roll on the next Audax! (When I have recovered, that is)
My thanks go to Clive for a well organised Audax.
Postscript:
It is now a week after the events described above.
It seems that I probably did crack my first rib and maybe the 2nd
as well in the fall – this is quite unusual; considerable deep
force is required to sustain this injury and I was very lucky not to
have broken anything else! This does explain the difficulty and pain
with breathing, a symptom that has not yet completely resolved.
X-Rays done on the Monday also confirmed that the Acromio-Clavicular
and Sterno-Clavicular joints were fortunately not dislocated and the
clavicle was not broken. However, the ligaments were badly strained.
I have also discovered the effects of deep bruising. These bruises do
not show on the skin surface over the area of injury but travel along
the deep tissue planes and manifest in odd places where these planes
reach the surface. The deep hip injury manifested with the bruising
becoming visible around the back of the lower thigh and more
particularly around the back of the knee. The shoulder and rib
bruises came to light on the front of the chest as low as the bottom
of the rib cage on the left and towards the armpit. Other pains have
also surfaced in odd places. The 30 mile round trip cycle commute to
work has slowed considerably, taking up to 10 minutes longer each
way. The body also reacts to trauma systemically. For the first week
or so it goes` into state of catabolism, retaining some fluid and not
feeling too good in general. It is supposed to switch back to
anabolism, switch on the repair overdrive and feel better about 10-14
days after the insult. I await the switch with impatient
anticipation....
Cannondale T800 bicycle, 17.5kg all up.
Eggbeater clipless
pedals.
Schwalbe Marathon Plus tyres.
2 water bottles: 750ml
with 6% Go, 500ml with water.
Anti-bonk rations: 200g
Marshmallows, 200g Jelly Babies.
Rear carrier with 12litre rack
bag
Cateye EL500 front light, 2x 5 led rear lights.
Tools:
Alien II, puncture repair kit, latex gloves, insulation tape.
Spares:
2 tubes, chain, 2 AA batteries.
Clothing: Bib shorts, Short
sleeved base layer shirt, long sleeved cycling top, knee and arm
warmers, Specialised Rockhopper shoes, neoprene overshoes, Altura
Nevis waterproof jacket, lightweight gloves, mitts, helmet and
sunglasses.
Computer: Garmin eTrex GPS on handlebar mount.
Trip:
Total distance: 160km. (official), 185km
(actual)
Total time: 10:12 (15.7kph – official; 18.0kph –
actual)
Time in the saddle: 8:38 – 21.3 kph (actual)
Total
Climbing: 3000m approximately.
Maximum speed: 76.0 kph.
Pieter Meiring, September 2004.
Access Count: