Some like it Lumpy

The forecast for the weekend was not great. Saturday morning looked like the only real opportunity to put in some kilometers in anything other than wet conditions. I made an executive decision I would put in a short hard ride on Saturday and go and take the Kona out to play in the mud on Sunday. It seemed everyone else was busy on Saturday. I would be going alone.

Except that I wouldn’t. I had planned a ride that would have a lot of climb, some of it steep, ramping to 20+% and including one ot the longest in this small hilly country.

Now I live in a valley so it is a climb to begin and that rather set the scene for the day. It was a day with few breaks everybody climbing at their own pace and then taking their turns on the front.

And hilly it was.

As ever in these group rides my aging legs were not entirely happy during the first of the climbs and I spent a fair amount of time spinning the Pickenflick’s little gears and watching people disappear up the road. It wasn’t that easy hanging on when the pace line formed either. The Pickenflick runs a super compact chainset with the little cog on the chainset being 28 and 30 out back, but a 42 -11 combo for the flats and downhills.

The Pickenflick is a wonderful thing but it does have it’s limitations. It also weighs in heavy with its 29er wheels and discs.

When we got back to my house in a little under 2 hours 48km and just over 800m ascent on the clock one of our group was not happy. “I don’t like getting the bike out for less than 50km”. So I offered the possibility of another loop of around 10-12km and another 150m. So a select group of 5 set off to keep our friend happy. We ended with just over 60km and 937m ascent.

The final route can be found here

What was most pleasing was that one of the group was a Luxembourger who rode regularly admitted to “Never having been here before in my life” and saying after checking the data from strava later “...and I learned that the was a place as high as 408m in the middle of our country”.

Another of the riders while climbing hard up to the 408m informed me that it “was beautiful”. Which came as a bit of a shock to me because I was struggling so much I had not lifted my eyes from my stem and the square meter of tarmac in front of it, but when I did he was right. Later that afternoon with a beer in my hand and Strade Bianche on the TV I checked through Strava. Plenty of new PR’s and one of our group making it into the top 5 of a descent...but I led him down, where was my medal? My gps had messed up a bit at the start of the downhill. Damn! Later still after a ticket had been put into the Strava helpdesk I got a nice email to say they had resolved it. Nice one Strava...kudos to you!

I guess being a bit heavy, riding a heavy weight bike with disc brakes and a misspent youth scraping footrests of motorcycles round the back roads of Scotland does have some benefits. Having people to chase and to sit behind also helps a lot when looking for medals it seems.

Spring is Coming

It’s a difficult time of year for me. I don’t particularly like riding roads in the wet and cold. There seems to a correlation between how inattentive car drivers are and the weather. The worse the weather them more frequently they seem to close pass or completely miss my presence on the roundabout. It is however a time when I have to put in more and more road miles. This means change.

It is the time of year when my bikes (I know, I know but hey they all get used and used well) have to swap roles.

I have 4 bikes here in Luxembourg: my road bike - the Kaon, my cyclocross bike - the Pickenflick, which is never raced but provides for extended commutes and playtime exploration in the forests; my Kona - an old school, late 20th century hardtail mountainbike and the Ute. The Ute is a special thing. It is the bike I bought 25 years ago, when at age 30 I gave up smoking and restarted cycling. When I say it is the bike I bought, what I mean is it is the frame that is left from the bike I bought. Nothing else remains. Nothing at all! The bike was a ‘hybrid’: flat bars; triple chainset; and a wonderfully 90’s  metallic purple and white paint job. It has been many things since then including a long spell as a fixed wheel commuter in Aberdeenshire. It is now reborn as a drop handlebar shopping bike/tourer with 105 gears and road tyres. Except at this time of year. This time of year it is all change.

To misquote a popular TV show “Spring is coming”. Spring brings with it some of the most fun a cyclist can have on the road, if you can call it a road. Spring brings the “Cobbled Classics” and I love them. I love everything about them. I love watching them, I love the anticipation and I love the participation. Who could not love clawing your way up the Koppenberg forced onto the very edge of the cobbles by all those people who, unable to ride it, are forced to walk? Who could not enjoy being part of 16,000 participants some serious some less so? Who could not enjoy “sprinting” against the 5 year old on his tag-a-long in the finishing chute of the Ronde van Vlaanderen and seeing his look of determination, watching the grin spread and hearing his shouts for mum to go faster? Who could not enjoy the battering of hands, wrists and backside that the cobbles of Paris Roubaix give out and arriving exhausted sore and beaten to the velodrome, find that extra bit of energy to ride up the banking and accelerate to the line?

And so the bikes need to change. The Kaon gets cleaned, serviced, wrapped in towels and placed on the turbo trainer. (a spare wheel with a trainer tyre on means it can easily be brought back onto the road if the weather turns out nice). The cyclocross (Pickenflick) gets cleaned, serviced and a nice set of 28 road tyres. It becomes the winter road bike, working on the principal train heavy race light it should mean the comparatively featherweight Kaon flies when used in anger. Which leaves the Ute being reshod to take to the mud and gravel of my forest commute.  The slightly harder gearing doesn’t hurt there either. The Pickenflick may actually be the tool of choice for both the Ronde Van Vlaanderen and Paris Roubaix, it was last year, wet cobbles and mud mean I feel happier with my overbuilt 29er wheels and disc brakes, but if the weather looks good then the Kaon will fly.

Spring, I love it, but the preparation begins early. Unfortunately if you aren’t fit enough to cover 160km with either steep climbs or prolonged accelerations at regular intervals then both rides could easily become purgatory. So Spring starts in January for me. Inevitably it begins with a post Christmas weigh in and the realisation that I have to give up beer for a few weeks (at least on school nights ;-)). Then comes the Tour of Sufferlandria “The Greatest Grand Tour of a Mythical Nation” and on top of my commute miles it brings  9 consecutive days of high intensity interval training on the newly prepped Kaon.

Then come the hard miles, persuading myself to head out at weekends into the cold and damp for 2-5 hours a time on the newly dressed for the road Pickenflick. This I make easier each year with the purchase of a new piece of kit. Last years Gabba and this years Sportful Fiandre Light jacket (both rather excellent if I may say so) have forced me out the door knowing that it is the only way I can justify purchasing such items.  

The ride home is also hard. As the light fades and the temperature drops  I know I have to take that turn left instead of right; to force the Ute with its road gears and 25 year old steel frame, to take the long way home,. But you know what, every year that moment of pointing the Ute down some singletrack mudslide, some hill that it’s canti brakes and skinny cx tyres shouldn’t cope with, every year that moment turns to the biggest of grins. You can't help but smile, when forearms pumped, the tatty (now blue(ish)) steel bike not only survives but sets a Strava PR. Every year I am rewarded by this scruffy old bike, every year I give thanks for the decision to give up smoking, take up cycling. At this time of year, full of change, anticipation and trepidation, every year this bike reminds me of the joy that one decision has brought me and every year I promise that while other bikes may come and go the Ute, in one form or another, will be with me for a lot longer yet.

Winter is fading...Spring is coming. Spring...it’s a time of change. The bikes change. The tracks change. The forests change. And I become renewed.

Every time I see an adult on a bicycle, I no longer despair for the future of the human race.

H. G. Wells

Work?..What work?

 I had a lot to do. Work was mounting up, there were chores to do around the house and I had managed to sleep in. I opened up the blinds to blue skies and a hard hard frost on top of the remnants of last weeks snow. I looked at the laptop where the work lingered, I surveyed the pile of washing and looked at the nearly empty fridge. Work or chores first? Washing and shopping or writing reports? Coffee was the answer, life decisions like that require coffee and toast...lots of toast. In the end I did what every sensible person in my position would do. I pulled on the warmest cycling clothes I could find, dragged the Pickenflick out of the garage and set off for a bit of fun in the woods.
 It was cold, very cold. The temperature gauge on the bike computer started dropping from the healthy 19C that it had been reading in the house. It was dropping alarmingly fast as I cruised down the bike path towards Lintgen. By the time I had started the climb out of the valley the temperature was reading -7C and still falling but more slowly. It was beautiful on that climb but slow. It is steep and the snow had been compacted by quite a lot of traffic. With the main road closed for some reason there had been a few (or more) cars choosing to detour via this cycles and farm vehicles only road. It got slippy in the steep sections and traction was hard fought. Emerging from the trees at the top was stunning.

We had a storm blow through last week and the trails were a bit of a mess. Trees were down over the paths and at various points it was more mountaineering than cycling but it was worth it. Meandering through the forest led me eventually to the stone circle and Neolithic house just below Blaschette. -9C

 
































With the temperature still falling and as the sun dropped lower in the sky I did not linger but pressed on through the trees to the "Dead Woman's Road". From there it was a fun and swoopy descent to home. This line is always a challenging way to finish as it is a rarely ridden (or walked ) route but it was made harder this time. Partly it was my frozen fingers barely able to pull on the brakes and grip the bars but mostly it was the holes in the ground. Sneaky surprise holes dug by the boar that roam the woods, half hidden by debris from the storm and the snow. It made for an interesting plummet down into Walferdange.

Home again just under 3 hours later and with another small mountain of toast and coffee consumed I was still cold. A hot shower and some clean warm clothes did little to warm me up. At least that was my excuse for not opening up the laptop and starting in on those reports. I'd do them tomorrow...let's just check the forecast for tomorrow... "-5C and clear blue skies with a hint of snow flurries". Hmm exactly when are those reports due?

My Forest...of course it is!

My Forest.

Not all of Luxembourg's forests are broad leaf.

Of course it is my forest, it is the forest just a kilometre from my door, I ride in it at least 4 days a week, it is my commute, it is my entry to the bigger, wider expanse of woodland beyond, it is MY forest. I share it of course, I like to share, it is good to see people out walking, collecting berries and mushrooms. It is good to see the dogs and the dog walkers even if some of them have a very dubious idea of what “under control” actually looks like...and don't get me started on the idiots with extending dog leads and earphones...but that is another story in itself.

In my forest I watch the seasons change. The coming of Autumn is spectacular most years, the changes astonish me and the trail changes on a daily basis. Spring always fills me with hope. Hope that the cold, dark commutes are finally over and as I watch life return to my forest I begin to dream of the longer exploratory rides of summer when new paths, new trails, new castles, new worlds open up.

But there is always that time I dread, that time at the end of autumn the beginning of winter. The time when the leaves have fallen but the frosts have not made the trails hard. These are the days I fear for my forest. You see, my forest is not just mine, nor is it the dog walkers and berry pickers. The forest in truth belongs to the loggers. These are mostly old beech woods. They may look and feel natural but many of the paths I ride are in fact logger’s roads. The grass, bush, birch and nettle may crowd the trail but these were once roads for logging trucks and will be so again. These forests belong to the loggers. These are the days I fear, the days when I look forward to slipping into my singletrack descent and arrive at the entrance to this secret pleasure only to find the singletrack destroyed and replaced with a 3 metre wide scar of mud and caterpillar track. These are the days when I wonder how I will get home tomorrow, how I will find my way to my favourite spots, how life will ever be the same. These are the days I grieve for my loss and the damage to my forest.We are entering that time.

The loggers perform their duty with ruthless efficiency

What once was a swooping secret descent becomes a muddy scar.

I grieve less and less every year, it is not that the loggers are more careful, more respectful of my place in my woods. They are not. My passing is not noticed at all. No instead I have come to learn that the forest itself is by far the most powerful thing here. The trucks, caterpillar tracks, extractors, might seemingly destroy the forest but in reality it is never for long. The forest has a knack for reclaiming itself and as it heals itself and the cycle wheels, walking boots and dog paws tread down the muddy imprint, so the trails return to the way they were, for the most part. This is not the clear-fell destruction that we see in other parts on the world’s forests. These forests have been harvested over the centuries. They are now carefully managed, they have time to regenerate,  a few trees here, a few trees there are brought down, dragged to the main paths and stacked. In fact the biggest danger to the forest is that it is getting old, there is not enough space for the young trees to flourish, Luxembourg may have to step in and actually clear bigger areas in order to help the young trees thrive. So now, while I grieve for my loss, I also smile knowingly at the stacks of logs appearing at the side of the trail and celebrate the power of the forest. 

The loggers, the feet, the mountainbikes, the storms, very little can truly destroy my forest, with in a season or two the trails will look much as they did. Nature is amazing and given a bit of time nature will return my forest to me, as the loggers give way in the spring time and the trails begin to dry out, so nature will begin the job of reclaiming what it lost. I will once again be besotted by the growth, the change, the colour. But for now, for now I must stay out of the way of the chaisaws and trucks, I must find new paths while the loggers widen and submerge the old trails under centimetres of soft slurry. But not for long...not for long.

Castles and Celts (well alright Gaulles and Romans and Franks but Celts sounds better.)

Have I mentioned Luxembourg is a stunning place to be a cyclist? Have I mentioned that it has history in abundance? Have I said that if you own a CX or Gravel Grinder or Adventure bike you owe it to yourself to visit this tiny country?

Luxembourg has km after km of forest road, of farm road and quiet roads to link them. So I set off to see what it would be like to be a gravel grinding cx riding tourist. My bike of course my trusted Pickenflick and my route choice had to be accessible from the city with the minimum of black top road. Luckily Luxemboug is well served in almost any direction in that regard. The Piste Cyclable 1 is a wonderful track, but best taken with an adventure bike of some sort or at very least a rugged tourer. It is a wonderful resource and my usual commute route. It is easy to use it to link to many other forest roads and farm tracks and in this case enjoy some beautiful autumn scenery.

Not all the forests in Luxembourg are beech.

From the PC1 I crossed one valley and headed up to a fascinating archeological site where buildings have been unearthed from as far back as Asterix's time - through Roman and beyond. If my French were better I would be able to explain more but suffice to say a great deal of ancient activity was to be had in these parts.

It is a pretty ride on good forest surfaces.

From there I explored new trails to me and ventured from forest to field and back again before eventually finding my way into Septfontaines.

This may look like clear fell at first glance but this is storm damage from a couple of years ago.

Some more beautiful riding in stunning woods took me to a cycle path which should have led me to Hollenfels and my second castle of the day but there were warning signs, not that I really understood anything other than it was a warning, but the men standing on platforms in bright orange camouflage and waving guns seemed to imply an other way might be a wiser option. It did involve a wonderful road descent through the trees to the main road and of course the climb back on the other side.
Which led to one of the most magical climbs, on broken cobbles, not disimilar to a scaled down version of Paris Roubaix but of course unlike Paris Roubaix there was a significant incline. This road led me upwards into mixed woodland that so captivated me that I completely missed my turn and climbed on to a crossroads where the sun beamed down through the trees and the ground glowed. Sadly the picture does not do the moment or the memory justice.

Hollenfels castle is a centre for many activities, and right beside it is a youth hostel. The castle was actually in use at the time I visited and youth groups swarmed around so I did not linger.

Instead I headed down the hill beside the castle for the briefest of time on tarmac and passed the very impressive SNJ buildings with the equally impressive gates.

From there a couple of extra climbs took me past Schoenfels castle and back to my familiar routes amongst the white roads above Steinsel.

50km 900m climbing and just a brilliant day out. Some country to cycle this is!

https://www.strava.com/activities/753598581

Autumn is Coming

 Taking time to enjoy my surroundings is something I try to do on a bicycle as often as time and my competitive spirit will allow.

Today I had time and any competitive spirit had evaporated with the entanglement now mangling my rear mech. My breath hung grey and still in front of me but despite the cold, sweat dripped from my forehead and carved silver stains onto my glasses. It was then that I first truly noticed. Autumn is coming!

The stinging nettles that lined my path and which, just a couple of days ago crowded in, green and threatening, now seemed old, tired and just a little sad. They bent down tinged with brown at the edges and covered in holes. Clearly the caterpillars or snails no longer feared their sting and were gorging themselves on the last of the green. The nettles weren’t the only thing I noticed, the path which so recently had been sandy and loose was now firmer, held tighter by the addition of a little rain and dew. Instead of the nettles threatening me with a sharp sting, the now glistening, roots threatened worse if I did not pay attention to them. 

As I began to cool and feel the chill air on my damp back, I cleared the stick and got moving again but now more slowly, more aware of the slight changes that had occurred in my forest. The golden brown of the beech litter was beginning to hide the rocks and roots, the trees still looked green from underneath their still shady canopy, but other signs were there. Beech nuts crunched under my wheels and the wild flowers of summer were no longer to be seen. When had they disappeared, they were here a few days ago... weren’t they? 

The last descent seemed slippier, despite my increased care, the back wheel skipped and hopped over the drainage channels and then I was out of the forest and looking across the valley to the other side. 

When did that happen? The far side of the valley was already burning copper around its edges. The green giving way in great waves to yellow and brown. Looking back at the forest I had just left, it struck me. Inside the forest was still green, but looking at it from the outside it had begun to turn, it had really begun to change. Autumn is coming! 

 

4 Countries 4 Beers 1 Day

The plan was simple, or should have been.

I live in one of the small countries in europe, wedged between France Belgium and Germany with only a short hop from its northern border to Holland, Luxembourg is a little cycling gem. Bordered on its eastern boundary by Germany and in part the Moselle river. Following the Moselle south leads to France. Heading west back into Luxembourg would take me passed one of the few craft brew places in Luxembourg in the town of Bascharge and on into the spiritual home of beer... Belgium. Swinging east again would lead me home to the little town of Walferdange just north of Luxembourg city.

So I planned to ride into 4 countries  drink something from each, though the aim was, if possible, to find a native beer in each country. After all 4 small beers wouldn't do me any harm over the course of a day's ride, surely. How hard could it be. Everywhere in Germany sells beer, France is the home of the cafe culture, Belgium a powerhouse of brewing and Luxembourg has a cafe on every corner.

Luxembourg is in itself a wonderful country to cycle in. The city and the main roads are busy like any city or country but off the main routes the traffic is relatively light and the car drivers are generally respectful of cyclists, as they should be. Cycling is the national sport here and Luxembourg boasts more Tour de France winners per capita than any other country. There are also mile upon mile of designated cycle path though it is of very variable style and surface. Some of it winds through traffic calmed suburbs on the roads, some suddenly degenerates into rough forest road or farm track, and some is wide purpose built shared usage bike path. So the plan such as it was was to spend as much time as possible on the bike paths away from traffic and eat and drink my way into 4 countries in a day.

It should have been easy but as I set off at 08:00 it was already 26 degrees celsius and rising. 11km came the first puncture, thankfully I was carrying a spare tube tools and a repair kit but my mini pump struggles above 100psi so… anyway …I promised myself I would stop at the first sign of a bike store and adjust the pressure and replace the patched tube. The trip was going well and despite the puncture and the fact that I had been forced to walk a section of the cycle path which was conspicuous by its absence I arrived in Remich in good time, rolled across the border into Germany and headed for the the cafe at the camping site - closed - something that was to be a recurring theme for the day.

Once at the Moselle I ambled south, moving off the path to unsuccessfully locate a bar on the way, well unsuccessful in that I located several, all either closed or decaying. Eventually very hot, a little bit bothered and very very thirsty I found my first German bar. Now I have a smattering of French and absolutely no German but as ever the waitress spoke English and I was soon sitting in the shade with my cold beer. Excellent, all going swimmingly kind of, so after downing the ale and getting the bidons replenished I moved on. Back into Luxembourg and then down into France.

Mondorf Les Bains is a smart Luxembourgish

town with a thriving tourist industry modern new buildings around the hot springs and a general feel of affluence. Mondorf is a full 100m away, is in France and is non of those things. Foolishly I avoided a slightly seedy looking bar sure in the knowledge that somewhere in the next few towns I’d find a drink and maybe something to eat, after all  aren’t the french famous for their cuisine. As I was toiling up a hill in the now 40C heat I saw a couple of bikes hurtling down hill towards me. I raised my dripping brow from my stem to grunt out a greeting just in time to recognise the Luxembourg champions jersey. Wannabe flashed across my mind followed a split second later by the realisation that it was in fact Frank Schleck, and he was gone. Andy I believe is opening a shop and cafe somewhere around there but maybe over towards the German border where I had just come from. Which reminded me - still needed to find a bike shop, and a beer, damn but it was hot. I toiled upwards and aimed for little back roads to the next village. The road quickly turned into farm track and needless to say the cafe bar was locked up and decaying. Onwards then ever onwards. I was flirting with the border here dodging in and out of France Luxembourg France but never once did I find a bar open until I was back well inside Luxembourg. Oh well a Luxembourgish beer and some food would be good enough. I’d get a French beer from the supermarket to drink at home later. Beer yes food no kitchen closed. Moving on then and a small detour to the rather excellent Beierhascht hotel and brewery in Bascharage. Tempting though it was to stay in the cool and drink their wonderful ale I forced myself out the door and headed North west to Belgium.

The roads were good, the villages large, the shops and bars, hotels and cafes all shut. I don’t know if it is always like that but having ridden in circles round several villages I ended up crossing back into Luxembourg just outside Steinfort buying a beer and water in a petrol station riding back across the border to drink a beer in Belgium. The rest of the ride was uneventful beautiful and quiet Luxembourg roads, cafes and bakeries open for the most part though now tired I dropped my head to my stem and pressed on home and a cold shower and cold beer from each of the countries I had visited beckoned. Then came the realisation that the ride could actually be an imperial century so having slogged up the last hill of the day I turned away from home to add a few extra kilometers. Another small miscalculation had me riding around the block until the 160km appeared on the garmin.

I got home with what can only be described and Neapolitan tan, like the ice cream, white pink and brown. A cold shower and a liter of cold water later I was ready to light the bbq and celebrate my achievement with a beer from each country. There was Simon Regal from Luxembourg, Bitburger lager from Germany, Chouffe an IPA tripel from Belgium and … no French beer. Not even in the supermarket, simply not to be found anywhere.

The ride was a great success, some beautiful countryside, some excellent cycle paths, particularly inside Luxembourg and four countries visited in one long hot day. Next time I will plan the places to stop so I don’t ride aimlessly round French and Belgian villages looking for ale. Next time it won’t be 40c. Next time I’ll take 2 spare tubes, never did find a bike shop either. Next time...