Anatomy of a devil.
After Friday's long overdue trip to the skatepark, my whole upper body has been feeling pretty stiff. I don't ride BMX as often as I would like, so 3hrs of hopping, jumping and manualling around a concrete park was a big wake up for those chicken arms of mine. Still I finally managed a pedal stall on the mini ramp so I left happy.
And the ying to the BMX's Yang, is the road bike and now some pretty sore legs. Now the whole body aches. In a good way of course - learning new skills with the BMX. Testing the legs with the road bike. A complete work out but the legs may take a while longer to recover.
A snapped spoke just as I set off today almost ruined the party but thankfully the resilience of the carbon Reynolds managed to hold together for the ride. Still alarming to look down as see the wheel sway side to side like it was doing the Lambarda. I managed to put the fears of an imminent imploding front wheel and loss of teeth to the back of my mind as I set off on the first climb.
Some might say I chickened out of the 25% wall of Porlock Hill and you'd be right. Kicking off a ride with a ramp like that puts me in the red for most of the day. So I chose the gorgeous gradient and resurfaced smoothness of the Toll Road. A far nicer climb for several reasons. One, it's very quiet and snakes through an autumnal feast of ancient woodland before finishing on the stark beauty of Exmoor. Two, it's just the right gradient for tapping out the kind a cadence that would make Armstrong proud. Which generally means by the top you've accidentally given it full gas and you're deeper in the red than if you climbed Porlock Hill.
I minced my way through the downhills finding occasional reassurance in that squeezing the front brake straightened the wheel momentarily. Lots of gently undulating roads gave way to infrequent assaults of small sharp 25% pitches. With more ups and downs than a yo-yo, riding in this part of the country is split between freewheeling and a slow mashing of the pedals with not much inbetween. It could be just the routes I choose however.
And then the devil looms large. Dunkery Beacon. Or as I like to call it, Two Miles of Swearing. It's not rated a 10 out of 10 for difficulty for nothing. In my mind it's the ultimate test.
Starting in comforting and picturesque woodland any ideas of admiring the scenery are immediately banished with the first 'chevron' (of which there are 5 from bottom to top). This 17% pitch adds some spice in the form of a cattle grid which, if wet like today, you'll need to sprint over. After the smallest smidge of respite it's into chevron number 2 and another 17%. This time you can spot the edge of the woodland on the crest and the resulting slight downhill when you exit the lower slopes is a cruel twist.
You'd (and I have on many times) be mistaken for thinking that the hardest part is over. Its been incessantly steep since the bottom and now all you can see is a gentle road upwards. As the cadence drops you round a corner straight into a steep S bend. If they have stuck an S bend here then surely this is the hardest part, yes?
No.
As the ever present headwind starts to bite and the "comfort" of the woodland is left behind, chevron 3 on the S bend and chevron 4 not long after have you looking over your shoulder for the broom wagon. It you weren't on your bike, you'd be on your knees. It is often that I forget at this point about chevron number 5. The nature of the surrounding terrain leaves you to believe that the summit is close. Only when you ride over the crest of chevron 4 do you see the snake of the road rearing up. Menacing, exposed and unrelenting.
With it's non-committal left and rights the road barely ventures off straight. Everything about it taunts you. Begging you to have a go whilst laughing at your weakness. The headwind and gradient increase in unison. The resistance in the gear lever means there is nowhere else to hide. This is the beauty. You have to face the challenge head on. You've traded blows and the hills seems to be bracing itself for the knockout. The legs and resolve are weakened. With each revolution your legs cry out for an escape.
Deny them.
Deny them and you'll be rewarded with the rush of staring defeat straight on and calling its bluff.






