Defeated by wind
The wind. Never before have I been so aware of air currents, as when I got on a bike.
A good wind will basically take the… er… wind right out of your sails when cycling. I knew this before I even saddled up for the first time - thanks, Nigel - but still, it’s one thing to know, another to experience, etc. Also, because my preferred route most days is along the seafront, that means I get the benefit of unfiltered sea winds, blowing straight in from the Channel and onto my face. Or, when I’m lucky, onto my back.
The difference can really be dramatic; I’ll easily drop or add five MPH depending on wind direction, and that can be a quarter of my top speed most days. With that in mind, I tend to look more at the wind speed and direction when I’m checking the weather forecast these days. Too high, and I’ll reconsider a ride.
Yesterday though, I was determined to go out. After my glorious discovery of the Undercliff Walk on Wednesday, I wanted to get back out there and see some more. There was also the small issue of my little ‘episode’, which I wanted to make sure, at least in my own mind, was only a temporary thing. So, out I go.
I took a slight variation on my Laines route to get to the seafront, choosing to nip down Ship Street in the last stretch, then crossing at some lights. The never reliable BBC had told me the wind would be blowing South-North, which I certainly felt when I was heading that way; good, I thought, because traditionally it’s East-West and West-East direction winds that scupper me.
Turns out, it’s the wind speed that’s the issue. Or at least that’s my excuse, and I’m sticking with it. Turning west towards Hove I could immediately feel the wind buffeting me, although I didn’t pay much attention.
(The confusing thing about wind, y’see, is that when you’re riding you can never really tell where it’s coming from - unless it’s coming at you straight on, or from behind. The way you can tell it’s the latter is that suddenly you’re King of the World, Speedy Gonzales on steroids - you’re breaking speed records. When it’s the former, you’re a very old man with rickety joints and aching muscles. Particularly galling when you’re biking over the exact same piece of road you’d just been on, as is often my situation.)
So on I ride, heading towards Hove as usual. I’d noticed some signs for Zippo’s Circus on Wednesday’s ride, which was supposed to be starting on the 17th, so I was sort of surprised not to see a huge great circus tent in front of me. I forgot about that as soon as I realised I wasn’t exactly picking up speed as I’d like, and put some more effort into my pedalling as I headed towards the King Alfred Leisure Centre.
The front was relatively quiet, barring a few walkers here and there, and quite a few cyclists that passed me in the opposite direction. As I got around to the back of the Leisure Centre I noticed what I’d been expecting; Zippo’s Circus, which had set up shop in the contained area just past the Centre. (I’d turned back before I got that far on Wednesday.) Glancing at the gaudy signage and noticing the natural barrier all the parked trailers formed, I gritted my teeth and aimed for Hove Lagoon.
About half-way there I knew I just wasn’t having a good ride, and started the internal debate about how far I’d go. I’ve been as far as Shoreham before, and had one good ride that ended on a remote jetty - but I knew in my heart I wasn’t going to make it. I felt dehydrated and blamed myself for not bringing water, although thankfully I had money to buy some. In the end I turned around just after the Lagoon and reluctantly headed back home, knowing I wasn’t going to top my usual ten miles today.
Damn that wind. Lesson learned, though; it doesn’t much matter where it’s blowing from, or to… if it’s blowing hard, it’s going to make things difficult.
