From Mindfulness to Mind-the-Pothole

By George

It sounds disingenuous now, but I wasn’t that sure about the cycling. I preferred to run.

It was more about the shared cause, the challenge and the promise of legendary ribbons of mountain road, daubed with the names of greats, and about scenery which would leave you slack-jawed with its drama. Continue reading “From Mindfulness to Mind-the-Pothole”

Tomboy to Tourmalet – part 2

By George

Also see Tomboy to Tourmalet – part 1

Skip forward to marriage and three children, you then have “recreational” cycling dominated by a certain desperation to find family activities we can all just, well, do. There’s a great deal of cajolement that needs to happen cycling with kids, or the use of one of those trailer attachments to drag unwilling or incapable children behtrail gaiterind a quietly blaspheming parent; but sometimes it’s easier to take the strain rather than the whinging. Continue reading “Tomboy to Tourmalet – part 2”

Wet & Windy Winter Training

By George

The deprivations of winter haven’t been a deterrent for our C2C cyclists in the gentle climes of the South downs, I mean its not Finland is it? In Oulu, the self-proclaimed capital of winter cycling, it gets so cold the snow freezes and you can’t even build snowmen. They have three hours of daylight and temperatures stay well below -25ºC, but the majority of the residents cycle regularly all through the eight and a half month winter… hell, what do we have to complain about? Continue reading “Wet & Windy Winter Training”

Tomboy to Tourmalet – part 1

By George

Apart from when I was a tomboy of 15 years old, the sort you you don’t tend to see these days; gawky and androgynous, I have never really bothered much with cycling. But back in the day, I was really quite enthused by my “racing bike” which had a perilously high, straight top bar. It proved I was no skirt wearing girly girl but threatened me with severe groin injury at every road junction because my father insisted on having the saddle at the “correct” height, which meant my feet could barely touch the ground on tip toes. Continue reading “Tomboy to Tourmalet – part 1”