Ships log: 80 not out - Headwinds, Hail and Highly Average Coffee

After last week’s sortie into the Peaks (successful, against all probability), I opted for a more local excursion. The route was carefully engineered to mimic the elevation gain of Chase the Sun. A persistent headwind on the way out was, in theory, compensated by a tailwind home. More on that later. The forecast was of the ever-reassuring (unreliable?) black cloud/sun/rain icon. Spoiler alert: it had hailed yesterday.

The mission parameters included a non-stop ride to 50 miles, a maximum distance push to 80 miles, and an ill-advised attempt at calling this a “recovery ride.” Given the 4–8°C temperature range and wind, I made an executive decision: the lighter short-sleeved thermal base layer came back into play, thus avoiding another mid-ride costume change fiasco. In hindsight, the decision, astoundingly, proved correct. Mark this rare event in the history books.

However, before departure, the day provided its first test of resilience—one entirely flat front tyre. Initial upset subsided upon discovering it wasn’t sabotage from the Peak District, just the slow betrayal of a valve giving up on life (it had separated from the tube itself). A fortunate development, really, since catastrophic failure on a windswept hilltop in the Peaks would have been less amusing. A quick inner tube swap later (lesson: deflate properly first, you fool), and making sure I used a short presta valve instead of the previous longer one, and I was off.

Despite the headwind’s best efforts, the ride progressed well. A slight dip in morale around 30 miles coincided with traversing a road coated in what one hopes was merely agricultural byproduct, but the mudguards held the line. 

The main noteworthy event of the day was, for once, not a missed opportunity to document railway infrastructure/rolling stock but rather a fleeting brush with airborne military hardware. Just before reaching Oundle, I managed to capture—if one squints hard enough and engages their imagination—a pair of helicopter gunships soaring overhead. A rare treat, offering a few seconds of distraction from the relentless reality of pedaling into the wind.

Soon after, I arrived at my coffee stop approximately on schedule - coffee (7.5/10—large, but lacking in existential depth) and brownie (5.5/10—texture and flavour vaguely reminiscent of plasterboard).

Post-refuel, conditions held steady. The next 10 miles were an exercise in endurance over dismal road surfaces, but then—for a brief, shining moment—the sun emerged, and riding was, dare I say, enjoyable. Naturally, this was when the malevolent cloud behind me made its move. A necessary turn west placed me directly in the firing line just in time for the hail. Delightful. Fortunately, I’d deployed the mighty nitrile gloves in anticipation of such treachery, and the wind took a charitable cross-angle instead of a full-frontal assault. Two gritted-teeth miles later, I turned south, the hail relented, and I could “cruise” home, by which I mean limp with dignity.

80 miles completed in less-than-ideal conditions, and remarkably, my legs remained attached. Next week’s destination remains uncertain. Perhaps somewhere with better coffee. Or fewer airborne ice particles.

80 miles. 3300 ft elevation.