Worcestershire - Land of Hope and Glory but perhaps not today......

Throughout a busy weekend in Dublin I kept an eye on my weather App for Mondays’ weather in Worcester, overcast but dry – that will do for me I thought, knowing a weekend of Guinness, late nights and airport departures wasn’t exactly conducive to athletic performance I wasn’t keen on a long, cold wet day in the saddle……Late Sunday evening, kit was laid out, porridge prepared ready for an early start and equipment check carried out – disaster! cannot find the mini pump, last seen poking out of Conors’ jersey pocket. No worries CO2 canisters and inflator packed along with 2 spare tubes and some patches, all set!

5:45 AM alarm call, certainly not feeling too energetic but a hot cuppa and a bowl of porridge seems to be just the ticket. A familiar drumming sound drifts in from the conservatory – rain! surely not, a quick check on Metcheck, no there’s no rain forecast for Worcester, must just be a rogue shower.

Following an uneventful trip down the M5 I arrive in Worcester and the Sat Nav takes me straight to my intended departure point, the Cathedral multi-story car park and it is here the day starts to unravel, in my eagerness to start the ride I haven’t noticed the sign – “Max Headroom 6’2″ now, even with the suspension lowered the T5 tops out at 6’4”. Despite being only 7:15 AM a queue of 3 cars is backed up behind me and I’ve nowhere to go, after profuse apologies the good people behind me edge out on to the ring road in the wrong direction to let the lycra clad numpty tentatively reverse out before disappearing tail between my legs to the nearest car park without a height restriction.

Swans on the River Severn, Worcester cathedral in the background

Embarrassment behind me I quickly get bike ready and jersey pockets stuffed with the days’ essentials. Leaving Worcester at a much later than planned 8:30 I am met with the morning rush hour and a less than bike friendly ring road which was traversed more than once before I finally found my way on to the Droitwich road and at last feel that the ride is under way, not for long! Roadworks, trucks and numerous potholes all make the early miles a chore, the only bright spot the kids on the school bus all offering enthusiastic support for my endeavours!

The road to Droitwich continues to thwart me but once in Droitwich I quickly find the statue of the salt workers in Victoria Square.

Droitwich is situated on what is now known as the Worcestershire Plain in the Salwarpe River valley.

It is based on Triassic marls and sandstone stratified with beds of rock salt from which emanate springs of brine.

This natural resource has made Droitwich one of the main sources of salt production throughout history since the Iron Age and probably before.

There is evidence of a settled community from the late Iron Age (200 – 100 BC), producing and distributing salt over a large area, to the Roman occupation when the town was known as “Salinae” meaning “Salt Works”. http://www.droitwichspa.com/history.shtml

The country lanes around here are dominated by the twin masts of the Droitwich Radio Transmitting station it was here that the traffic had at last dissipated and the ride was becoming enjoyable with the undulating country lanes punctuated with little hamlets like Cutnall Green and Elmley Lovett.

As I swing Northwest towards Hartlebury common I am reminded of sunny summer  afternoon trips to the common where I would roam free, play Frisbee, cricket and football with family and friends followed by Fish’n’ chips in Stourport. The weather today is quite the opposite as a squally shower turns into more persistent heavy rain. As the road drops down towards the River Severn at Stourport, suddenly there’s a bang! I have unavoidably hit a big pothole, luckily holding my line whilst boxed in by a large lorry but now I’m riding a clowns bike, a big flat spot and a puncture is evident on my front wheel. Limping across the bridge I pull over and survey the damage, the puncture can be repaired at the cost of one of my gas canisters but the buckle doesn’t look good. I consult google on the iPhone and I’m in luck there is a bike shop back towards Hartlebury a mile and a half away.

The rise and rise of the internet has undoubtedly been a source of great pressure on the Local Bike Shop (LBS) and I am a great advocate of supporting my local shops despite also seeking out a bargain on the web as well, but the attitude of the bike shop in Stourport left me disappointed and annoyed. Having entered the shop with my bike dripping wet I asked (very politely) if there was any chance somebody could look at truing my wheel “shouldn’t think so.” came the reply, “Doesn’t matter with disk brakes anyhow.” they didn’t even take the time to ask what the damage was. Infuriatingly as I had already used one of my two CO2 canisters I begrudgingly handed over my cash for a mini pump as a back-up.

My heavy Guinness legs were now fuelled with red mist and I quickly retraced my steps and was soon in Great Witley steeling myself for the climb of Wyniattes way over the Abberley Hills.

Never a good sign……

The rain now formed streams down the treacherous descent with the detritus of late autumn demanding great caution on the steep ramps.

With the 1st big climb of the day behind me I tried to settle into a rhythm at least my new Rivelo Garsdale Jacket http://rivelo.cc/mens.html seemed to be holding up well to the deluge unleashed upon it but the same couldn’t be said for my waterproof winter boots by Mavic which now resembled a goldfish bowl on each foot!

With the delays caused by the buckled wheel which by now was treating my arms to an incessant low frequency juddering I decide to abort the planned stop at the Den Cafe at Stanford Bridge opting for a quick photo and a couple of mouthfuls of squished flapjack instead.

The Teme valley just a month ago was ablaze with autumn sunshine as I tackled the tough cyclo-cross course adjacent to the famous Shelsey Walsh Hill climb but today it was shrouded in a blanket of low cloud and drizzle.

 

With Stanford Bank on my right I pedalled on towards Clifton -upon- Teme  the climb up to the village caught me unawares as the name had suggested to me it was on the river not on a knoll overlooking it, I was flagging, yes I had a damaged wheel, yes it was wet and cold and yes I had spent the weekend in Dublin drinking Guinness but surely it shouldn’t be this hard!

In my mind I knew Ankardine Hill was looming, described in Chris Sidwells excellent book  Best 100 Mile Bike Routes as a “killer climb” and used locally for many hill climbs it isn’t by any stretch a monster of a climb but it is a tester and the way I was feeling it wasn’t going to be pretty.

In keeping with the sign I took on the persona of an HGV and engaged my crawler gear all the way to the top, I wouldn’t be checking Strava later that evening for KOM’s or Pr’s.

The descent on the North side is fairly shallow but instead of being able to enjoy the descent down to Elgars birthplace in Lower Broadheath I found myself roadside fixing the second puncture of the day. No spare tubes left now.

Elgars birthplace museum is being refurbished as it has been acquired by the National trust and is due to open spring 2017, I  left with the words of Land of Hope and Glory playing in my head hoping for inspiration for the next 50 miles.http://www.elgar.org/welcome.htm

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THYgeETrkPs (Land of Hope and Gory last night of the Proms)

As I entered Worcester for the beginning of the second 50 mile loop another deluge had me searching deep for the willpower to carry on when a set of dry clothes and a warm pub was only a mile away.

Quitting before the big climb of Malvern however seemed unthinkable and despite the sloshing water in my shoes and vibration white finger from my square front wheel I turned away from Worcester taking the signs to Malvern.

Powick Bridge is just a few miles from Worcester on the road to Malvern and was the scene of a Royalist victory in the first major cavalry battle of the English civil war on the 23rd September 1642.

The Malvern hills are a special place and on a good day the views are fantastic with vistas across Worcestershire and Herefordshire as far as the Brecon Beacons, The climb is never steep and follows a series of ramps up to the Wyche cutting. As with Ankerdine Hill earlier in the day I was bereft of energy or zip in the legs “Un jour sans” – a day without, as the French like to call it, every cyclist has had a day like this, a day when nothing seems to work properly especially the legs and today unfortunately was my turn.

Even having crested the Wyche cutting where the road dramatically cuts through the rocks and briefly skirmishes into Herefordshire I still couldn’t get the legs turning freely.

65 miles in was now a good time to stop and refuel but the pressure of getting back before dark (and to make parents evening on time) was weighing on my mind so my stop at the kettle sings café was limited to a pot of tea and a delicious slice of carrot cake, accompanied with a great view. I considerately removed the cushion from the chair before sitting down and mopped up the muddy pool of water beneath me before leaving.

The descent down to Welland resulted in another puncture, (and no they weren’t all from the same thing!) left with no spare tubes I fiddled at the side of the road trying to get soaked patches to stick on wet rubber. Having finally managed to get a decent repair I took off again hoping to find the energy to gain the time needed to finish before darkness and the much heralded “super moon” was upon me.

As the heavens once again decided to unleash their wrath upon me I suffered my fourth puncture, as I struggled to get the last of my drowned patches to stick the sign opposite me “Worcester 10” was too much to ignore this time. I abandoned thoughts of finishing before dark and instead focussed on completing the 10 miles back to the security of the van. With a slow puncture and no means of repair determining a tyre pumping stop every 1/2 mile or so the 10 miles seemed to take an eternity until with Worcester cathedral in view I gave up the tyre pumping and in true cyclo-cross style shouldered the bike and hoofed it back the last 2 miles, which included a small detour as my original starting point eluded me.

Disappointed that 100 miles had not been completed I nevertheless headed into the city centre for what was still a well deserved pint in the oldest pub in Worcester, the Cardinals Hat. http://the-cardinals-hat.co.uk/ Inside, encouraged by the warmth of a log fire and a refreshing pint of Teme Valley Brewery “My Pleasure” (7/10) I reflected on a tough day but also on the fact that it was still a far better way to spend a wintry Monday than stuck behind a laptop.

I vowed to return to Worcestershire to complete the missing miles and more seriously to set myself a rigorous training and nutrition plan to get myself in shape for the much harder challenges that lie ahead in Wales, the Peak district, Yorkshire, the Lakes and Scotland, for a day like today would see me in real trouble when the climbing really starts.