Tea Parties, Talent and Transformations

It’s several months since the idea of cycling was first gently mooted over food and prosecco and 4 months since the first tentative spins of the pedals took place.  At that point the Cycletta seemed a lifetime away and there were many glib comments regarding  having plenty of time to get fit, organised, team t-shirts etc… Well since that point there have been major transformations…. The Purple Peril is now the Burgundy Bombshell, the team has expanded, new bikes have been purchased, my week in Tuscany has mutated into a week in Provence, shopping now takes place in cave like Emporiums of metal and rubber – and we’re not talking Viv Westwood here, conversations regarding style now include discussions of type of bike carrier, – indeed on a detour on a cycle ride yesterday to collect a brochure from a car showroom one of the key questions was regarding the type and accessibility of the bike carrier rather than that other critical factor, the colour. Our bodies have transformed and there are signs of leaner meaner shapes – and the pedals spin faster now.

But there are somethings that have not transformed – our love of spending time with friends, shopping and scoffing.  A rather wonderful piece of scoffing recently took place at an afternoon tea party which was just up our street -cakes, scones and champagne, good company and conversation to raise funds for a local cancer charity. Beautifully put together and all home-made  we scoffed guilt free safe in the knowledge  we would burn it off through pedal power. What a transformation! 5 months ago there would have been more guilt floating than you would find in any convent school – well from me at least.  There would be the murmur of  ‘I really shouldn’t'  followed by  ‘I’m only being polite… it would be rude not too’  to  justify  hoovering up everything in sight.

Sunday cycling has become a norm now and once again powered through fear of the Cycletta approaching like a runaway train, my scone scoffing cycling sister and I set out yesterday to attempt to go the distance.  Following an encounter with 3 aged walkers – think Last of the Summer Wine meets Cocoon- who scarily we had seen last Sunday as well – geriatric stalking comes to mind…. we demonstrated to ourselves definite signs of transformation  as we made it up the longest hill in Lancashire  (I maybe exaggerating slightly here) me slower than ever but with only minimal walking whereas previously I would have been stomping up it from the start! As we reached the summit  the heavens opened and here perhaps was proof of our  transformation  from Ladies that Lunch to the Stoic Sisterhood of Cyclists.  We sheltered briefly under a tree, shared a muesli bar and broke out the Emergency Poncho – now the thought of even having an Emergency Poncho about us would previously have been inconceivable.   However faster than you could say – Give me  that Prada handbag – my companion was swathed in something that appeared to be fashioned out of carrier bags from an economy supermarket.   Far from bemoaning its obvious lack of style, we admired the wonderful draping and large capacity not to mention the handy hood which  slipped under her helmet. Our oohs and ahhs were worthy of the front row of any show at New York Fashion Week, Victoria Beckham eat your heart out.  We only required the one EP as I had my trusty purple waterproof strapped to the Burgundy Bombshell’s carrier – not that it had had much use prior to the cycling adventure – it had been purchased  in case of a tempest at an open air  performance of Macbeth and had then languished in the car boot  for at least two years. Now you are looking at two women of a certain age here who previously have spent many a Sunday out and about – mainly in the changing rooms of  fashion emporiums or seeking the perfect Egyptian cotton sheets. These pastimes will still take place and no doubt  fill our hearts with joy as much as the wonderful afternoon tea party,  but may be less frequent as we continue to pedal the canals and byways rain or shine.  So with not a care for our appearance  -  and secure in the knowledge we won’t be figuring on any of the wonderful Cycle Chic Sites,  we set off on a slightly terrifying freewheel back down the hill – the yellow cape billowing like the front sail on a  racing yacht, but boy , did we get some envious comments from the sorry soggy cyclists and walkers we flew past.   Now to many of you this may seem trivial, but to us it is a small thing which demonstrates a big change, a change in our lifestyle, a change in our attitude to life and a change in what matters to us.

Over the past months  what has continued to matter to us,  is why we are doing this, why we even have such a thing as an emergency poncho  about us.  It is the  desire to raise money for our chosen local charity The John Bury Trust which aims to help young people transform their lives. We support organisations and individuals in small ways which will make a difference in their lives and help them reach their full potential.  This weekend validated our decision when we attended the  annual Talent Show and were treated to a fabulous night of local talent.  Dancers, singers and supporters entertained an enthusiastic crowd at  King Georges Hall giving everyone a great night out whilst raising badly needed funds.

Those of us who will shortly be pedalling round the roads of Cheshire for the charity will have gone through a range of transformations, big and small, physical and mental,  but I am sure that whatever has changed within ourselves it will be for the better.  Our aim is that by transforming a part of our own lives we can help make a major difference and really transform the lives of some who need it most.

Our sponsorship link is http://www.justgiving.com/cycletta

 

crystals clingfilm and consequences

Its been an interesting week involving Prosecco, sackcloth and ashes and ending with a crystalline crisis. In between there’s been a fair bit  of cycling, with nearly 25 miles under the belt or rather the saddle and a bit more to come tonight. And herein lies the final crisis of the week, there is a rather lovely trip planned for this evening around the Ribble Valley – so whats the problem? Well you may notice that I have had my regular pedicure today – the purple is just because I like the colour and is not a tribute to the Peril which departed with not so much a backward glance at me this week.  My wonderful pedicurist threw a hissy fit and there was a distinct danger of hot wax (and not in  Madonna in a rather bad film type of way) flying round the room when I explained this evenings activity which requires rather more substantial footwear than a pair of Fit Flops. The thought of her handiwork being plunged into a pair of sweaty trainers so soon after completion was clearly a major issue. However we discussed the problem, applied a systems approach, a bit of appreciative enquiry and any other bit of management speak I could think of and discovered the solution to ensure my crystals remain intact and sparkling for my trip to London tomorrow is apparently… clingfilm. If I wrap my toes in cling film and then put my socks on this will do the trick – I am now boggling my mind at how many other cyclists we will pass this evening with cosy toes of clingfilm – needless to say I am rooting out the clingfilm as we speak, but there is a little voice telling me that my previous pedicure complete with crystals  has survived a months worth of trainer abuse and so these may just have to take their chances and I will suffer the consequences at my next appointment.

But consequences have been suffered this week already,  the Prosecco flowed on Saturday evening at a rather gentle and lovely BBQ and had little effect the next morning on a fabulous ride from Wrea Green to Lytham and back.  I was sure that  any excess calories had been burnt from that ride and another trip down the canal.  Alas it was not to be as I stood weeping on the scales at Fat Club and retreated in shame in my sackcloth and ashes  repenting my sins (or rather Syns) vowing to  stay on track this next week. I need to make sure I do not transgress again as our fat club leader is a happy and lovely lady but has a fearsome streak and is not to be messed with.  So bearing  in mind that  every action  has a consequence  I may just go and find that clingfilm..

New partner, new position, better result

I suppose it was inevitable… I have betrayed the Purple Peril, despite its best efforts to keep me satisfied, our relationship has run its course and I have, like many an ageing Lothario traded the ageing, reliable and slightly heavy partner in for a younger fresher lither model. Looked at in such terms it is perhaps a cruel act but I have softened the blow and am allowing the PP to retain the compost bag as a familiar crutch. This is partly because my new love – The Burgundy Bombshell is complete with not only a tinkly bell but a sparkling built-in stand allowing it to perch at a positively coquettish angle.

I have been flirting with the Burgundy Bombshell for a while in what is now time-honoured fashion over the internet, but before making my final move I did decide to play the field a bit. So following an abortive trip into an emporium heaving with metal, chains and rubber which under other circumstances I may have mistaken for the type of establishment a good convent girl should have no knowledge of whatsoever, I dipped into another similar establishment, accompanied by a knowledgeable colleague. My previous foray had revealed that if I wished to purchase any of their magnificent machines I would need a bank balance approaching the size of the national debt but more to the point I wasn’t keen on any of colours and none of them seemed to have either baskets or bells – a fairly massive omission in my humble opinion. Mind you I don’t think the bouncers sorry assistants, felt my 3 inch heels and rather fetching summer frock met the dress code either – I got the distinct impression I was not on the list and not coming in.

So the second attempt was much more casual – well in dress terms anyway – a shift dress and red espadrilles and the bouncers at this venue seemed much more tolerant and laid back, and as I say I was supported by a trusted companion with extensive knowledge of saddles – well horse saddles anyway – and she soon got into the swing of things spotting potential matches based on my type of criteria – colours and accessories. She deflected the look of scorn that was hovering on the assistants face as I dismissed several on the basis I was not keen on the colour, was very useful when I dismounted one and forgot it may fall over if not supported and best of all ensured I rejected a cheap but heavy silver fox that was proving tempting but would ultimately have ended in tears. But the Burgundy Bombshell was still lurking in the dark recesses of the mind and smelling an opportunity or possibly not able to take any more wittering about colours, baskets or bells our man wizzed off and in a flash had arranged an assignation, some hard bargaining on the price – remember my companion knows how to buy a horse – a flash of plastic and the deed was done.

Such was the BB’s desire to meet with me it arrived a day early, and so we have been on our first date and yes we are gelling, the frame size and position are easier, causing less stress, we seem to fit well and on the quick run out we have already achieved great things… a hill I bottled out of going down the other day is now conquered… not only did we whizz down, we also whizzed back up and I had to resist a shout of glee accompanied by an air punch – just as well as clearly the air punch would have been a bad move as I would have fallen off.

The old and the new are nestled side by side with the compost bag squeezed in the middle, but the Peril should not despair, we have bonded, we will always be fond of each other, never forget our time together and will remain friends. As a good friend should I have sourced a fitter stronger partner for it and I look forward to watching their relationship grow and prosper. Who knows we may even double date!

Of canals, cake and coeliacs….

The Purple Peril spun  back into action last night, as with a collective shout of…. Thank God its Friday!  a small portion of Team Daft and Determined propelled their machines onto the canal tow path for an early evening 13km. We bravely ignored the rain, telling ourselves that on the great day of Cycletta it may well be monsoon conditions and we need to be prepared, a deep breath and we whizzed off over what was blessedly flat terrain.

Five minutes in and the clouds began to clear,  something of a relief  as I had chosen rather stupidly to wear  glasses rather than contacts deciding that a last minute change could prove problematic on a narrow tow path by a deep canal.  However the rain and lack of wipers on the glasses (designers take note; there could be a niche market here) meant that vision was becoming slightly blurred giving rise to the odd palpitation – not from me but from the  random ducks and dogs not to mention a fellow cyclist, that I failed to notice as we bowled along.  And bowl along we did… through a part of the world close to home but totally unknown to me until now, a world of narrow boats and canalside gardens and what I initially thought were rather wonderful steel art installations, until it was explained that these were some form of  canalside traffic control requiring the compression of self and machine in order to squeeze through.  On reflection a thoroughly sensible preventative measure ensuring  we did not either a) mow some unsuspecting pedestrian down or b) in our over enthusiastic pedalling shoot out in front of a law abiding motorist who quite possibly would be scarred physically and mentally  for life from a close encounter with the Purple Peril.

The Peril performed well and has had a treat since  the last outing, with the addition of a squishy gel seat,  which as you can see is capable of supporting a baby elephant,  so it just about coped with me and made for a smooth and untroubled ride. And before the comments start… I work in sexual health and  have already identified its potential use as a mobile condom demonstrator.

Only one glitch, in that having prepared thoroughly, and filled my rather lovely girly pink drink bottle with a homemade concotion of energy drink, I discovered in a parched moment that rather than nestling in its designated spot clashing with the purple of the bike frame,  it was residing comfortably in the boot of the car.  Hence a raising of hopes at the half way and turnaround point when it appeared that the canalside cafe may still be open… alas it was not to be. However,  undaunted and ignoring the prospect of major dehydration – unlikely given that the dry mouth was more to do with the non stop chatter and gossip going on than the intensity of the excersise -  we returned in excellent time in what was now glorious evening sunshine, to our start point.  Here the wharfside  cafe and bistro  were more than happy to supply us with great coffee and scrumptious cake. Clearly I shall not be admitting to the cake when I present myself at Fat Club this week having decided it was well earned and could easily substitute for an evening meal. The cake  was  not only delicious  but  gluten free and came complete with an informative and interesting discussion from the proprietor regarding the increasing need to ensure they catered for coeliacs.

All in all a brilliant and lovely few hours with not just the pleasure of the ride but discovery of new world, new places to visit, and the knowledge that customer service and regard for meeting clients needs is still strong down on Foulridge Wharf.