Cycling Fever?

I had this question when I first began doing strenuous rides and recently someone asked me the same thing: Is it normal to run a fever after cycling?

The short answer is: Yes. It happens to some people. Not to all, but to some. I am one of them, and I now know a few others who experience this with regularity - always have. The evening after a strenuous ride, I will often run a fever and might even develop a sore throat. While it's happening it can feel very much like the flu. But the next morning all symptoms will be gone, so it is not a case of actually getting sick.

My understanding is that this is a normal reaction that some people simply have to certain types of exertion. It may have to do with how our bodies engage in muscle repair. Or it may have to do with circulation issues. No one seems certain, but it does happen.

Regardless of how or why it happens, I have noticed there are things I can do to alleviate it. For instance: taking a hot shower or bath after a ride, taking an NSAID or acetaminophen concoction, eating warm "comfort food" such as soup or scrambled eggs, drinking lots of fluids, and trying to get as much physical rest as possible. Basically treating it like the flu works for me. It dulls the symptoms while they are happening, so that I can still be productive with the rest of my evening. And the next day I feel good as new - only the muscle soreness remains.

If you experience fever or flu-like symptoms after strenuous cycling, how do you deal with it?

Off Road on the Edge of the World

A couple of days ago I accidentally completed a 6 mile off road ride along the coast of Antrim. Without question, this was the most challenging bike ride I have done to date. I would not have attempted it had I known what was in store for me. But it was also the most beautiful, breathtaking trail I have ever been on.

It happened like this: One morning I decided to ride to the Giant's Causeway, which is about 12 miles away. I took the direct route on the coastal road. The first part was a tedious climb, then a long descent - both with glorious water views. When I was almost at the end, I spotted a sign for Dunseverick Castle and stopped to have a look. The setting is very interesting, and I walked around a bit photographing it. The light kept changing every 5 minutes, so the colours in all my pictures from this day are crazy and I decided to leave them that way. The landscape here really can look neon green one moment, then golden or drab olive the next.

Like most structures described as "castle" along the coast of Northern Ireland, Dunseverick Castle is actually a ruin. There is an overview platform from which visitors can observe it from the road (people do coastal driving tours here...). And next to this platform is a sign indicating that there is also a walking trail - leading down to the castle, then continuing right along the coast to the Giant's Causeway.

I looked at the trail. It was grassy and appeared pretty tame. The Giant's Causeway didn't seem that far off. So I decided to go for it on the bike.

The trail ended up being 6 miles long, with no exit points along the way. As far as cycling, I would describe it is as not for beginners. I spent maybe 40% of it on the bike and the rest walking, or crawling. The initial stretch of grass quickly narrowed to a rocky, twisty single track along the edge of a massive cliff overlooking the Irish Sea.

There were also long stretches of loose, chunky gravel. There are no flat, straight sections along this trail - it is either uphill or downhill, and all twisty. Honestly, I found the terrain extremely challenging. Going toward the Causeway, the trail is mostly downhill and the ground beneath me was unstable due to the mud, roots, rocks and loose gravel. It was scary to experience this combined with constant twists and turns as I cycled alongside a cliff. Also, at some point the hub gearing on my Brompton started coming out of adjustment (now fixed), and I did not always have use of my lowest gear. This made some of the uphill sections on loose gravel impossible, so I walked them. I also walked a couple of the trickier downhill stretches. An experienced mountain biker could have maybe done 80-90% of the trail on a bike, but I am far from that status.

It did not bother me to walk with the bike when that was what I had to do. I had a heavy bag with me, and I was glad to roll it along on wheels rather than carry it on my person, as I would have had to do had I chosen to hike this trail. Despite the stunning views along this trail, there were not many hikers around. Most of the time I was completely and utterly alone, with no other human forms visible in any direction. I encountered three groups of ramblers total, and they all expressed horror at seeing me with a bike. "You need to turn back," a German couple warned, "it is not bike territory ahead."  I knew exactly what they meant, because I had already gone through that kind of territory.

Along this trail there are occasional stairs built into the hills. They look like this, sometimes worse (longer and steeper). There was one particular set of stairs where the grade was too steep to walk upright, so I had to sort of crawl up them with the bike on my back. 

Since the trail passed through farm territory, there were also occasional stone fences with stiles to climb over - essentially wooden ladders placed over the fence. These were a little shaky, so I had to hold on to a pole with one hand (taking care not to grab the barbed wire instead - of which there is lots) while carrying the bike in the other. All through this, it was of course freezing cold and raining intermittently. 

Well, what can I say. One must have a sense of humour about things like this. Sure, the description of the trail could have warned there would be crawling and flights of stairs involved. But that would have spoiled the surprise element, wouldn't it. Ultimately it was more engaging to "discover" the trail this way rather than reading all about it in a guidebook first. 

The day was hazy and my photos don't do the landscape justice. But this hidden gem of a trail showcases the raw beauty of the Antrim Coast better than any other site I have visited so far.  It is extreme. It is dizzying. And not just the heights alone, but the colours, the smells, the forms and textures.

And it truly does feel like the edge of the world: The trail is set back from the road by endless glens. You cannot see civilisation; only the edge of a cliff on one side of the trail and pastures on the other.

 Gorse bushes grow everywhere, their saturated yellow contrasting dramatically with the steel-gray sky.

It took me over 2 hours to get to the end of the trail, including all the climbing over fences and stairs, as well as constant stops for photos. By the time I reached the end point, I was exhausted and badly in need of food. The funny thing is that when I got to the Giant's Causeway itself it was absolutely unphotographable: Every inch of the majestic formation was covered with tourists. How odd that people will drive to it just to get out of the car for 5 minutes and have their picture taken on the rocks, but ignore the stunning trail that showcases the full extent of this area's beauty. Also, the entire site next to the Causeway is covered in construction at the moment. They are building a new, enormous visitor's center and while this is happening the area is a chaotic tangle of construction crews and tour buses and hordes of disoriented visitors. Dust flying everywhere. Yikes. I quickly bought an ice cream and got the heck out of there, deciding that I'd come back to see the Giant's Causeway at 6am next time to avoid the crowds.

The trail from Dunseverick Castle to the Giant's Causeway is technically a hiking trail, not a bicycle path. In truth, it is more suitable to hiking unless you have nerves of steel and serious cyclocross skills. Still, I am glad I did it this way and I admit that I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment (I also still feel wrecked 2 days later, but that is another story). As far as the bike's suitability, I find that the Brompton rides surprisingly nicely off road and is easy to control on downhill turns, so if anything I am more comfortable on challenging terrain on this bike than I would be on others. Another obvious advantage of the Brompton on a ride like this, is that it is small enough to carry when necessary. I would not have been able to drag a full-sized bicycle (especially a mountain bike) up and down those stairs and over those stone walls. Next time I visit this trail, I might hike - or I might do it exactly the same way but try to stay on the bike more. This was by far the most difficult ride I have ever done, but it was also the most rewarding. When the two go hand in hand, it is pure magic. 

In Defense of Bad Weather

All week long people have been apologising for the weather. It's been raining severely for at least a portion of every day that I've been here. But the thing is, I really don't mind. And it is certainly not ruining my stay here.

Consider, for instance, that some of the most dramatic scenery emerges in bad weather. The gathering of storm clouds. The mist rising over the glens. The waves crashing onto rocky shores. Tall grass windswept. These things cannot be captured - or seen, for that matter - without this so-called "bad" weather. In the rain, colours look brighter, more saturated. The smell of flowers grows more intense, Textures come out that are not otherwise visible.

In bad weather, you get to know a place better. Any spot can look charming in the sunshine and under blue skies. But how will it look in the rain and under the shadow of storm clouds? Some places are rather depressing as soon as the weather turns bad; others are breathtakingly romantic.

They say rain is good for your complexion, that it makes your skin radiant and restores elasticity. Just think: Every time you are out in the rain, you are really getting a beauty treatment.

In the rain the country roads are mostly empty - ideal for cycling in peace and tranquility while enjoying views unobscured by cars and tourists.

It's a  cliché to say there is no such thing as bad weather, and I don't really believe that anyway. There are tornados, hurricanes, lightning storms, blizzards. But some heavy rain? I get my camera, check my brakes, wear waterproof clothing, turn my lights on, protect my equipment inside a bicycle bag, and enjoy the ride. No need to apologise, Ireland - the weather is lovely!

Through the Hedge Backwards

On Monday morning I went on a scouting ride to the Dark Hedges. The site is just outside the village of Armoy, about 10 miles inland from where I am staying. The inland roads here are flat-ish by local standards. The weather was looking good. It would be a nice and easy ride. And of course, I would finally see the mysterious old trees. I had elaborate photographic plans for them.

I set off after having breakfast in town. As a reader has astutely noted after a previous post, every exit from Ballycastle is uphill. I picked one that was relatively mild - though not the mildest, as I wanted to avoid the congested main road that leads out of town. The climbing began straight away.

The terrain in Antrim is difficult to describe to someone who has never been here. Coming from New England, it was a jolt to my system. We do have hills in New England of course, but they are "rollers" mainly - relatively short, if steep, ups and downs where the momentum from a descent can be used to get up the next hill fairly easily. If we want more serious hills than that - either steeper or more sustained climbs - we have to seek them out. And almost any route involves plenty of flat stretches as well, providing opportunities to rest from climbing and descending. 

Here in Antrim it is rather different. Most routes I have ridden so far have consisted of long climbs at a mild grade, punctuated by shorter but steeper climbs. There are almost no truly flat stretches, along the central part of the coast at least, no opportunities to rest. It is either a long up or a long down. Even at a mild grade, sustained climbs are draining for someone who is not accustomed to them. Being used to New England terrain, I have learned to "attack" hills, but that approach does not work here. When there is no end in sight, attacking just saps energy - it is far better to relax, get into a low gear, settle in, and spin while enjoying the view.

The landscape en route to Armoy is pretty enough. But on the coast of Antrim one soon gets spoiled with astonishingly dramatic views, and these were fairly plain in comparison. Farms mostly, stone walls, lots of adorable lambs basking in the sunshine.

The morning was a sunny one, but the skies were a dark slate-gray. The combination created a moody landscape that I kept wanting to stop and photograph. But I decided against taking photos until the return trip, because I wanted to make it to my destination while the weather was good. You never know here from one hour to the next.

Still, half way through I was seduced by a particularly fetching view of heavy skies over a dilapidated farm house. I could not help myself and stopped to take a quick picture. 

No sooner than I took out my camera and composed the shot, the sun disappeared. Now it was just the dark sky, and the scene looked rather dismal. As I debated whether to wait for the  sun to re-emerge or get back on the bike, it began to rain - so suddenly that I barely had time to shove my camera back inside the handlebar bag. 

And then I felt something sharp on my face. What the...? 

All at once, it was hailing. Hard. The morning light disappeared entirely as shards of ice pelted the earth - and me - with violent force. At first I was too stunned to do or even think anything. Then I began to panic. I had stopped in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest settlement 5 miles away in either direction. There was no shelter here - no trees, no canopy of any kind. The dilapidated farm house was separated by a barb wire fence, so I could not hide out in it. The temperature kept dropping. The hail kept falling. "Am I going to perish here?" I thought. I did not know what to do.

But then I realised... that I didn't really need to "do" anything other than pull up the hood of my raincoat. I had dressed warmly. I was wearing a waterproof coat and shoes. Everything was fine. I could simply enjoy this natural phenomenon... and hope there would be no lightning. 

Thankfully, there wasn't. The hail soon let up and it was just the rain now. I got back on the bike and soon reached the village of Armoy. The Dark Hedges would only be a few miles from here.

I should mention that I had seen no other cyclists on this route up to this point, and very few motor vehicles had passed me outside of settled areas. It was just me, all alone, in what was now almost comically terrible weather.

When I reached the village of Armoy, it looked eerily abandoned. Houses on the main street boarded up, shops and pubs closed. Finally I passed a small grocery store that was open and came in to get a hot coffee from the machine. Nine Inch Nails played on the radio, contrasting wildly with the quiet shuffle of the two elderly patrons. 

The pale, lanky teenager at the cash register (ah that explained the music) took an interest in my "wee folding bike" and confirmed the directions to the Hedges. He then refused payment for the coffee - which I have found happens here often. I left the money on the counter anyway, in case one of the other shoppers was short on change.

It continued to rain, though less violently, as I turned onto Gracehill Road, then finally Bregagh Road. On the corner an old man was sitting inside a bus shelter - a solitary figure in an otherwise desolate landscape. Simultaneously we waved to one another as I cycled past.

Now the road grew narrow and the vegetation wild. I began to climb a tedious hill as rain obscured my vision. I thought that I'd be able to see the famous trees in the distance by now and that this sight would at least encourage my progress, but the top of the hill blocked my view of what lay further. I realised how exhausted I was at this point from all the climbing I had done on this "flat" route, and from the rain, and from the cold. Honestly, I just wanted to get it over at this point and was no longer even excited about the Hedges. 

But just then, at long last, I crested the hill. And at that exact moment the sun came out. And the rain turned into hail again. And that is when I saw them.

The Dark Hedges - in the hail, fog, and sunshine simultaneously.  Descending under the canopy of twisted  branches was like passing through a tunnel. I then turned around, propped the bike against a tree, took out my camera and spent the next hour taking photos - about 500 of them, capturing the ethereal sight in a variety of weather conditions. "Four seasons in  day," as they like to say here. 

I've since visited the trees again, and I might write about them in more detail later. But on this occasion it was really a matter of the journey more than the destination. The experience of seeing the long-awaited Hedges as I crested that hill... no photo can capture it. 

It was not the weather for tourists, but at some point a car drove past and pulled over on the side of the road. Just as the rain finally stopped, a couple jumped out to take pictures. Seeing me there, they asked whether I could take one of them both. I did, after which they took one of me. Rather appropriately, I look like I've been dragged through the hedge backwards. What a ride this turned out to be.

Upside Down North Roads

During the VCC Northern Ireland Ride last weekend I had the opportunity to ride several bicycles that were fitted with upside down North Road handlebars - classic swept-back bars mounted upside down in order to achieve a lower hand position. Personally, I love upside-down North Roads. Unlike many other handlebar set-ups designed to achieve an aggressive posture, I've always found them comfortable and intuitive. So it surprised me to learn from others on the ride that this set-up tends to be a "love it or hate it" sort of thing, with many falling firmly into the latter category. 

Apparently, those who do not like the bars report that they make a bike's handling twitchy - almost providing too much leverage for comfort. That intrigues me, because that same feeling of leverage is what makes me feel in control of the bike - able to manipulate it and "place it" as it were exactly as I want.

I also like the ergonomics: My wrists just seem to naturally plop down onto the gripping areas as they do on regularly mounted North Roads, but the low placement of my hands enables a much more aggressive position than on a typical upright bike. It's almost like riding with drop handlebars, except with access to standard brake levers in the drops.

Interestingly though, I noticed that all the upside-down North Roads on the VCC ride were set up with the gripping areas pointing down, whereas in the US I usually see them set up with the gripping areas more or less parallel to the ground. I cannot tell which I find more comfortable.

Setting a bicycle up with upside-down North Roads is the best method I know of achieving an aggressive yet ergonomic hand position without resorting to drop bars. I am curious what your thoughts on them are.