Empty legs.

I rode the ‘paddy wagon’ with MapMyRide+! Distance: 28.20mi, time: 01:54:46, pace: 4:04min/mi, speed: 14.7mi/h.
http://mapmyride.com/workout/1363319339
Took the flattest route. Warm-up was a full 12 miles. Yes, it took that long before I felt sort of normal. All that time a little voice told me I should go home.
I blame yesterday’s irregular food. I ate plenty in the morning, but didn’t have a proper evening meal.
The same thing gap happened in the past when I had chips for supper. I don’t have chips any more. Pizza is nearly as bad.

I look quite pale in the mirror.

Storyville, 13 years on death row.

6°C, dry with white cloud.
BBC: A Death Row Tale: The Fear of 13.
Quite the most moving thing I have seen on TV for many years.

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Credit: Storyville.

Practically a single scene play with just the narrator. If tells his own story in a beguiling manner the revealed gem after gem.
I put the recording on late on a Friday evening thinking I could watch half and finish in the morning.
A man on death row, a drug addict, a car theif was sentenced to death for a rape and murder. He sits in a darkened room, under a single light and tells his story.
In this story, there are frequent glimmers of optimism and unwavering hope. He used the time to teach himself to read properly, to enjoy reading and became articulate. More than that, he’s eloquent.
Yarris tells a story of horror, obvious human rights violations and poetry. Not wistful romantic poetry, this is beauty within a life in a hell. Men in a confined space with a dreadful end story, behaviour is animal. Here is hope.

There are a few edits where outside images break up scenes, the unfolding story evolves and unfolds beautifully. Through my own personal tiredness. .I was pinned to this. Half an hour in, resuming in the morning was out of the question.
My hope is that I can this film on disc, I want to go back to this sometimes. There are themes here for me personally. This is a public space, so I’m not saying now.

Although I’m no criminal, I can take something from this story. There are profound messages about life here. Take a look.

‘Good grief’.

5°C, negligible N breeze. Clear sky white dry salty roads.
Commute with MapMyRide+! Distance: 25.08mi, time: 01:43:03, pace: 4:07min/mi, speed: 14.60mi/h.
http://mapmyride.com/workout/1360056929

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Strange encounter: the ride home took me through Weeford. Weeford has a short part climb which is a bit narrow. Tonight, a cyclist started the hill before me with a weave to the right. His bike has a big plastic bag hanging by the back wheel.  I called ‘on your left’ so I could pass as he swerved right. But at the last moment, he veered left forcing me to swerve right. ‘Okay, on your right’ I corrected.
Then, as I overtook, I said ‘good grief’. The guy is a hazard, mainly to himself, and to others.
As I rode up the hill, a tirade began:
‘Excuse me, what did you say?’
More incoherent shouting, the word ‘light’ came out. The shouting continued as I got to the top of the hill. Bizarre.
It’s no good to me to discuss the matter, I don’t care what the nutter thinks. He’s probably plucking bits of his bag out of the rear spokes as I write.
If he’s that annoyed then shut up, and get up the hill much faster.

That wasn’t the only encounter tonight. On Rosemary Hill Road, I passed a guy with no lights of any sort. At least he wore a tabard, but otherwise- darkness, car headlights often don’t reach high enough.
We stopped on a red and I said: ‘you ought to get lights,’ he said ‘I know’.
Let’s hope he does. Nobody wants to pass a cyclist lying in the road with a coat over his face one night.

Unnamed storm.

12°C, grey, clearing to sun later; very strong WSW.
I rode Paddy Wagon with MapMyRide+! Distance: 52.68mi, time: 03:49:16, pace: 4:21min/mi, speed: 13.79mi/h.
http://mapmyride.com/workout/1354437681
Furious howling wind, a tempest even. I tried to select a route that makes the most of the wind direction. Ideally, yet want to come home with a tail-wind. That’s not possible here, upwind is out to sea. Second choice then like a sailor, choose cross-winds. For most of the day, it worked well. The return leg ayr very hard though. Flat, for exposed moors offered no shelves from hurts over 40mph. There was I, standing on pedals, head down trying to offer a small profile, still only able to make 9mph. How my muscles burnt, and how my legs complained.
I map glad to get home.
Geology: stopped in Crossens for a reason you’ll have to guess at. There is a prominent bolder outside a water-works. It was easy to identify as granite. The large square crystals were clear as there is very little weathering on this bolder. It has a plaque:

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Crossens erratic.


That stone travelled over 100 miles way back 12,000 years ago. Somehow, it circuited the glaciers that advanced out from the lake district. Its route must have curved in the Irish Sea. I’m impressed by things like that.

Hills in rain.

I rode Fixed with MapMyRide+! Distance: 34.53mi, time: 02:25:45, pace: 4:13min/mi, speed: 14.21mi/h.
http://mapmyride.com/workout/1352912209
That was an early one, 8am start; which is unusual for me in February.

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This rain marks the start of a long finger of wet weather that stretches thousands of miles across the Atlantic. It’s one of those dreadful fronts that runs parallel to the wind direction bringing non-stop rain for days and days.
That was the bad bit. The good bit was the hill climbs. Two this time.

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The biggest spike is Bannister Hill; the one before- the village of Dalton. I can’t recall ever doing both climbs in the same ride.
I got home feeling pretty good too.
Note to self:1, take more early morning rides.
2, learn how to make my own flaplack.

Banshee 200.

4°C, bright but rain later.
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New tent; for wild camping. It’s similar to erect to my old faithful Tempest 300. The idea is to pack this into my 65 litre pack and use for wild camping. I shalln’t wait for the Diamond Challenge trip, with the first excuse, I’ll go. That means keep the big pack ready to go. The carry mat I used in the bivvy last year seems heavy, perhaps one of those cheap foam mats with foil on one side could be strapped to the pack.
It matters whether to lie foil up or downwards. In the bivvy, it should be upwards so you can turn over in the night without the mat sliding away.

Fun times lie ahead.

Clieves-Eight, x2

7°C, brisk SW, mostly clear with some showers.
I rode Fixed Paddy-Wagon with MapMyRide+! Distance: 9.60mi, time: 36:30, pace: 3:48min/mi, speed: 15.78mi/h.
http://mapmyride.com/workout/1350870575
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Not much time, so had a quick blast with the fixed. Cold wind blew from the southern approaches, on a short one, that doesn’t really figure.
Today has not been an example of a well used day. This ride did blow the cobwebs away. Without cycling, I would have lost my marbles long ago.

Coldest night.

-6°C clear and still.
I knew it would be cold so took precautions.

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Pistyll Rheaedr, highest drop waterfall in Wales.

Last night I used my survival bivvy over the sleeping bag. It gives an extra layer, especially when there’s a breeze.
My Rab bivvy is full sized, enough to pull over my head (and zip closed). It also has plenty of wriggle space which is enough for a fleecy blanket. That seemed to work well. I was comfortable even when the thermometer reached -2° inside the tent.
There were a few possibilities for the coming day. Walk on the hill again, shop in Betws-y-coed, or go home. The decision was made while fixing breakfast. The campsite has outside sinks and taps. They were frozen. No water! I’m not walking without water.
Betws-y-coed has one of the finest cafes in Wales. After careful packing, I headed for a nice lunch.

QMD: Cadair Berwyn.

0 to –8°C. April northerly. Mostly clear sky.
Full mountain day, after packing up camp, I heard the car rumble by, my colleagues had arrived. We convened a meeting around an outside table to decide which route.
Choices ranged from 7 to 12 miles. The big one got the go-ahead. Initially, there is a climb out of the valley along well maintained paths. Meltwater ran down and exposed ice on top of slate. Slate can be slippery at the best of times, but with ice!?
Before the first kilometer, it was apparent that we’d headed up the wrong valley. We wanted north and faced West. Oops.
I proposed that we take a quad bike track over the spur and intercept the path. Good.
Route mended, white summits poked above the grassy ridge.
From this point, the walk became fantastic. Fantastic in the sense that we strode out into a wonderland of snow and ice sculptures. Crunchy snow like this offers good grip and filled over those hollows between tussocks.
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The higher we got, the more fantastic the scene became. Wind was the sculptor here, and it had been very creative. Grid wire fences had long crystal growths of water ice, razor sharp and pointing downwind. Either the ice grew quickly, or the north wind had remained this way for days.
Worrying about time, we decided to skip Cadair Bronwyn and descent from the Bwlch before.

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Ice waffles.

The walk out was a considerable distance along sheep filled valleys.
Getting dark, we made camp at about 6pm. I was tired, partially my own fault. I didn’t eat enough. My boots repeatedly unlaced, the laces had iced up and slid loose.

Berwyn arrival.

-3°C to -6°C (at summits). Brisk NE, mostly sunny.
February mountain day! There’s a first.

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The morning after.

Arrived yesterday about 6pm as it got dark. The camp owner fixed of us with some firewood and directions. I drove down the pastel track to the field but got the car stuck in the bottom corner. The mud was fees and gummy. The priority was to sit.I the tent and make food. The car can stay where it is for the night.
But there was an odd noise in the field.
For the first time I used firestarters with no kindling. Surprised, it worked quite easily. Sitting to fact your supper under a cold clear sky is, under these circumstances, a pure pleasure. It was so clear that even under a bright first quarter, the stars and clusters were in sharp contrast. Not far from the moon were the Pleiades.
There’s also little white lights of a another kind- horses. They hung their heads over the gate to greet. Some horses are agreeably good looking like the one in Poldark. Here were not those horses. The Shetland pony was especially ugly, a real bag of spanners.
After fixing the fire, next was time to cook. This is also the time snow started to fall. There’s another first- prepare a meal in snowfall. The tricky bit, apart from handling the pans with cold hands was visibility. Each flake was bright in the headtorch beam. In the contrast, more distant objects were harder to make out.
Eventually, fed and watered, I sat by the fire reading and occasionally looking up at the stars that appeared from time to time.
By bedtime, the whole sky had cleared and temperatures fell hard and fast.