Worrying trend

Last year finding brochures with shoes and garments for the older woman in my letterbox troubled me. This year’s much worse. Indeed, it could hardly have gotten off to a worse start. I receive spam most days with offers of cut price funerals, exhortations to pre-pay for mine and, which I think is even worse,  a tempting funeral comparison website! A sort of permanent www.Hotelscompare.com. I’ve had so many of these emails that I’m beginning to wonder what it is they know that I don’t?

grimreaper

Okay, so the grim reaper can strike at any time. He’s no respecter of age but it’s got me wondering whether these sites have been surreptitiously following me on my recent rides? I only venture this explanation because I’ve recently had a couple of very close scrapes. Mostly perpetrated by motorists who blithely ignore the mantra of “Mirror, Signal, Manoeuvre” and head straight to “Manoeuvre”  bypassing the other two steps. To add insult to injury, one of my neighbours in the Domaine perpetrated one of these close encounters. And, yes, I have added their vehicle registration number to my Black List.

The weather has been partly to blame. It has washed lots of sand, stones and rubble into the cycle paths meaning that I occasionally have to venture onto that part of the road which many motorists think only they are entitled to use. Of course, they show me no such compunction when making use of the cycling lanes to overtake or park.

I haven’t ridden outside as much as I would have liked thanks to the rainstorms that seem to have swept most of Europe. Indeed, six weeks into the New Year and I have completed as many kilometres on the home trainer as I have on the road. An almost unheard of situation. My normally cheery disposition takes a bit of a dip without my daily dose of sunshine and cycling. It goes without saying, I am a fair-weather cyclist.

I find that if I have something to mull over you can’t beat a couple of hours on the bike. Inspiration  – and not a vehicle – will likely strike and I return to the office fired up and even more ready for action. It starts when I first awake.

Perfect day for a ride
Perfect day for a ride

I look out the floor to ceiling windows to find out what the weather’s going to hold for me that day. If it looks miserable, I’m far more inclined to roll-over and go back to sleep. If the start looks promising, I leap out of bed, with a spring in my step, and work in the office until I adjudge it warm enough to venture forth.

And finally…………………………….

Azur sky and sea but check out the snow caps in the distance
Azur sky and sea but check out the snow caps in the distance

Yesterday was one of those glorious winter days where the sky, along with the sea, was azure blue and cyclists enjoying the midday rays of sunshine thickly thronged the coast roads. After being housebound with a bad head cold for far too many days, I am back on my bike and discovering my loss of form. But no matter, I am back on my bike.

We’ve reached that time of the year when everyone is pretty much restricted by the cold to cycling along the coastal roads with the occasional shallow incursion inland. It’s what I call full-fingered glove weather. Not that I’ve resorted to the full-fingered variety, not necessary with my permanently warm as toast hands.

Sunday is of course club ride flag day and the club mates were out in force after a very wet and windy Saturday. I can’t remember the last time I rode with the club although my beloved, providing he’s not feeling too tired, will still turn out on a Sunday. But, after an exhausting few days in Paris, he was looking forward to a lie-in.  Our paths crossed with the club as they were heading back to base and we were heading out. It was a woefully small band of riders but membership is well down on those heady days a couple of years back when we were just shy of 200.

It’s more difficult to identify the various clubs during the winter months as only the larger ones, ours included, offer a full range of kit obliging those members of clubs who only have shorts and short-sleeved shirts to ride in non-club kit in the winter months. I was wearing my club winter jacket as it’s great at keeping out the wind and cold temperatures. Sadly it’s less efficient at moisture management. Unfortunately, the material tends to balloon in windy conditions making everyone, me included, look like Michelin (wo)man.

I let my beloved off the leash as it’s boring for him to have to stop and wait for me. Instead we arranged to meet for a coffee at one of our favourite pit-stops where the coffee’s great, the facilities are handy and it’s terrace is bathed in sunshine. As I cycled along, breathing in the glorious fresh air I realised just how much I’d missed my daily constitutional and vowed to make the most of the coming weeks. During the winter months I try to get out as often as possible and mix in some gym work and running on days when the weather keeps me off two wheels.

I feel the need to rebuild my base mileage particularly after several months of only being able to go for a long ride on Sundays thanks to the building works in the apartment block, thankfully now finished. The cycling programme is out and being fully embraced, particularly for the next few days. I’ll be taking an enforced rest at the end of the week thanks to a forthcoming business trip but then, I’ll be fully back in the swing. I can’t wait!

Plus ca change

I have slotted right back into my weekly routine following my return to France. The weather seems to have warmed up while I’ve been away and that Mistral chill has gone. I haven’t suffered unduly from jet lag, probably thanks to that good night’s sleep on the way back.

I’ve cycled twice this week and am looking forward to Sunday’s ride over to Menton. We tend to cycle over that way only on week ends, there being too much traffic during the week. It’s a lovely spot, albeit a bit bath-chairish: the Eastbourne of the Cote d’Azur. The ride over generally affords tantalising glimpses of the sea and coastline.

Menton
Menton

I’ve checked on the club website where, of course, there’s no mention of exactly where in Menton the pointage is taking place, I’ll just have to hope that I either chance upon it or it’s well sign-posted. I think it’s fair to say that after Friday night’s AGM, that’s one thing (among many) that’ll change in the future. Yes, I am now officially Madame La Secretaire du Club. I would like to tell you that I won by an overwhelming majority, but I stood unopposed, as did all the Committee. However, rest assured that I will not let this go to my head.

I have added yet another trophy to my growing collection and it’s the nicest yet; it doubles as a flower vase for all those winning bouquets! I suppose as there was no club championship this year I’m still the reigning ladies champion. In case you’re wondering, I am indeed wearing my Monaco volunteer trousers in the picture below. Unfortunately, none of my fellow winners weighs more than me, so I just had to grin and bear it!

Another one for the trophy cabinet
Another one for the trophy cabinet

Next week, the weather is looking a bit mixed. This will give me an opportunity to catch up with some of my more recent dental projects, the ironing mountain and my husband’s expenses. Plus, for the next 6 weeks or so, I’m going to be working out with a trainer – yes, those extra kilos are not going fast enough for my liking. She’s an ex-world class skier and sounds like she knows how to kick ass. I want a twice weekly routine to compliment the cycling and running, sorry that should be plodding given the speed at which I travel!

Soup, glorious soup

This week it’s looking increasingly as if I will have to resort to the home trainer to meet my training requirements. The weather has truly turned. Last week I was wearing tongs, linen shorts and t-shirt, this week I’m in trousers, trainers and a warm fleecy top. With the onset of torrential rain, the temperature has fallen ten degrees. The Col de la Bonette has been closed to all traffic,  thanks to the 20cms of snow covering the summit! The outlook is for more of the same.




Deluge on the Cote d'Azur

Deluge on the Cote d’Azur

Now, I don’t mind riding in the rain once the first downpour has removed the greasy diesel slicks from the road. I rode in the rain along the coast last winter and spring. Plus, I rode in the Pyrenees and Austrian Alps in the pouring rain. It’s only water after. The trick is to wrap up warmly and not stay out too long. Once your hands and feet are cold and sodden, it’s time to get back home for a hot shower and a mug of soup.


I love soup while my husband regards it as merely a starter, a promise of better things to come. I can and do happily dine off a pot of soup all week. At the moment I’m brewing up separate pots of bortsch and spicy butternut squash. Just think, only last week I was still enjoying watermelon gazpacho and chilled cucumber and mint.


 

Unobserved and unaware

It pains me greatly to say this but if I’m ever knocked off my bike by a car it is bound to have been driven by a middle-aged woman. I say this with some authority as all of my closest shaves have been with cars driven by unobservant, middle-aged women.

We’re supposed to be able to multi-task better than men but put us behind a steering wheel and we seem to lose this gift and more. Yes, we also lose any sense of spatial awareness. Girls, God gave cars three mirrors for a reason! Please endeavour to use them.

These incidents happened on roads I regularly frequent and, at this point, I should add that I’m a law abiding cyclist. I don’t jump red lights or cycle recklessly. I wear clothing which makes me clearly visible and I give plenty of hand signals. And, if you’ve seen my photos, you’ll know I’m not a small cyclist.

Two incidents happened on the very same roundabout where, from one of the eastern approach roads, there’s a very sharp, first exit, north- north- east. Incident no.1 involved a Twingo driver attempting to smoke, talk on her mobile and drive at the same time. However, not content with trying to dislodge me from my bike on the roundabout, she then tried to run me over on the ramparts of the old town, where due to the steep camber, there’s room for either one but not both of us. I managed to prevail, but only just.

Incident no.2 involved a mobile phone wielding woman at the wheel of a people carrier who, having failed to run me over on the same exit on the self-same roundabout, came to an abrupt, unscheduled halt 50 metres later as she searched in vain for a parking spot. Her startled look when I rapped on her window spoke volumes.

At the intersection of two one-way roads, I had to take evasive action to avoid being gunned down by a Berlin registered, turbo charged, Porsche whose driver (female, middle-aged with male passenger using mobile) totally ignored a red stop sign and my right of way. On the bright side, a Porsche driver would probably have been able to afford to replace my bike. Always assuming I had survived our contre-temps.

The most recent incident involved yet another middle-aged woman, driving a clapped out, red, Peugeot 205 in the on-coming direction, who turned left across my bows in complete ignorance of the road markings. Realising, rather too late, that she was about to turn me into road kill, she braked, allowing me to swoop past her bonnet, rather than over it. My front wheel met the curb stone full on (haven’t yet mastered the bunny hop) and I sailed over the handlebars to land on my right elbow and hip. I leapt to my feet, no real damage then, and checked the bike which was, thankfully, also unscathed. The woman opened the door and suggested I should look where I was going. In return, I ventured that an early visit to the optician’s might be advisable along with a refresher course at the nearest driving school as that thick white line over there gave me right of way. Having seized the moral high ground, I gave her “The Look”, remounted and rode off.

Now “The Look” is something I have perfected, along with a whole series of hand signals, to express my disgust at the driving antics of my fellow road users. However, I suspect that they go largely unnoticed as these drivers rarely glance in any of their mirrors. Nonetheless, they allow me to vent.

Not wishing to give you the wrong impression, I should add that, by and large, the drivers on the Cote d’Azur are pretty forgiving and understanding of cyclists. This may be because many of them are cyclists themselves. Of course, the solution to my dilemma may be to get many, more middle aged  women to take up cycling.