Oddsox 2

Second Sunday running with the Oddsox and I met Chris at Beamish this time. I was coming straight off a night shift, and unfortunately even a double helping of "the breakfast of champions" from the golden arches left me feeling like there was no fuel in the tank.

I was well early and as I listened to the radio had time before anyone else arrived to be certain that Andy Murray wasn't going to be the first Brit to win a tennis major for 75 years.

We headed straight down through Beamish Woods, with both Chris and I over the bars before the end of the first descent, and we weren't the only ones. Staying local wasn't on the cards as the shotguns got louder, and yes they were pellets rattling off my helmet as I brought up the rear. So we headed off via Beamish Old Hall towards Tanfield Railway.

Thankfully a few punctures slowed things up at just the right moments for me, but even so, I was starting to cramp after 3 hours as we pulled up again outside The Shepherd and Shepherdess. And yes, it was muddy again. Very muddy.

Beamish Oddsox

I went out the Oddsox today for the first time in just over 2 years.

It was a Wednesday evening in November 2008 when I stumbled in a pothole whilst negotiating a style within 300yds of the start of a Beamish Oddsox nightride. 2 ruptured ligaments, numerous physio appointments, scans, 2 operations and loads more physio later, I was back outside the Shepherd and Shepherdess for a 10am start this morning.



It was muddy, very muddy, but lots of fun: slippy, slidey and tiring - but a good way to start a Sunday. I'd taken Chris P along for the ride and I'm pretty sure he enjoyed it. My reward for introducing him to the Oddsox: a latte with both a bacon and a sausage sarnie. Result.

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Singlespeed

Last autumn I heard that my friend Rob had outgrown his courier wannabe stage, was selling his single-speed and had got himself a motorbike. Unfortunately by the time I heard, he'd already listed it on eBay so I decided to surprise him by winning the bid. I know, what do I need another bike for, especially a single-speed with a flip-flop hub? Er... bike polo?

Now 4 months later, I've finally gotten down to London to pick it up. I was expecting it to be more hassle than it was, because we had Jeff dog with us too, but was pleasantly surprised to find this helpful TFL map which showed me I was allowed to take the bike on the tube from Maria's in Southfields with only one change to Kings Cross.




East Coast Mainline was also a breeze: free bike carriage with my ticket and a pre-booked berth for the bike in the guard's compartment. Makes me wanna book a ticket to the highlands with only my mountain bike for company... not really: look at those faces!




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Hamsterley Icerink

Dave and Adele are keener cyclists than me. They'd booked a long weekend in a log cabin a Dalby. In January. After we'd had the worst snow in how long? Maybe they're mad keen... or just mad. Anyhow after half of a 2 hour loop at Dalby took 5 hours to "cycle" through still thigh-deep snow, they thought better of the invite they'd extended to me.

We decided we'd try Hamsterley in the hope they'd had less snowfall and more snowmelt. The crush of cars on the approach road led Dave for a moment to wonder if the trail conditions were utopian. A quick step from the car onto the icerink that was the road, dampened those hopes. The never-ending squeal of tires attempting to spin their way back up the steep bank to the visitors centre proved the wisdom of leaving the cars where they were.

The word from the locals was that other than the main forest road, all other trails were rideable. And they were: we had almost 3 hours of excellent winter riding. This time, I managed to find some of the unmarked locals-only trails and we managed to weave them into a decent route without wet-foot river crossings.

At times we were literally breaking trail, though. A snow-hidden puddle with inch think ice relented to my weight, and at about 10mph, I lost my front wheel into the foot-deep bog beneath. The only over the bar off of the day, though not the only fail. Adele didn't quite pull off her pirouette on the ice of the car park at the end of the ride, and Dave managed to work his way through another set of forks.

Dave and Adele are keener cyclists than me. I know this because I was the only one to taste blood from my lungs on the first climb. Going to have to get in shape for the 200 mile Coast and Castles route in April then.




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