#like seriously. you’ve done what women have been forced to do for millennia

[blonkk]

im gonna rant!!!

i’m so tireeddddd of people projecting their pathetic insecurities onto everyone else (me). like i’m sorry you’re afraid to be alone and you don’t know who you are and you’re insecure and you have no courage. not to be a bitch but seriously. idc anymore maybe i am stuck up maybe i do think i’m better than you!! but coming at me because i refuse to do what everyone else does with such contempt and vigour just exposes you. like i have accepted that in my life i will not experience romantic love. not because it doesn’t exist, it does for some people, but i’m not gonna base my entire life and goals around meeting someone, falling in love, marrying them and having their children. i’d be ready to end my shit right now if those were my goals, being 28 and not even having a boyfriend. that means i’ve already failed at life but i knowwww i’m still a caterpillar. like be serious. sooooo yeah, sorry that in your narrow worldview everyone needs to basically get married and have kids, and there’s “someone out there for you” — what so all women gotta find that person by age 30 or our lives are over?? 😂 you delusional weirdos sound like hardcore christians. like maybe there is someone for me who i’ll meet when i’m 45 or 70! maybe i’ll never meet them! maybe there isn’t anyone because that’s just the way the world is! but i’m selfish because i don’t want to spend my life being miserable because i can’t find love and place all chances of future happiness on this person and the privilege of bearing/raising their kids??!!? so i should just settle for second best — of something i don’t even WANT — because everyone says it’s the point of life?… anyways

i’m just annoyed like i said. i can accept a loveless life, it’s hard but i’m ok lol. yeah it gets sad and lonely sometimes but truth is i have a pretty wonderful life that i’m thankful for, despite sadness, loneliness, grief etc. being in love won’t improve things in any significant way imo. i don’t want to be isolated in a relationship with a man. i don’t want to live with a man. i don’t want to have kids. i like my life; i like my 50 year old snowboard bum roommate, i like my shit car, i like having the ability to do whatever i want. i like bouncing from job to job, despite the financial insecurity and general lack of stability; all my life i’ve wanted to be free and independent, and i finally am — i can take care of myself which is what matters. i love my friends, i love exploring different hobbies and places and careers. i am literally unemployed and haven’t been this happy in a long, long time. i’m so sick of people telling me they “want me to be happy” but ignore me when i say i finally truly am. they just want to shove me in their stifling little box with them for god knows what reason. just because you think your life is perfect doesn’t mean it will be for everyone. idk, things change! maybe i’ll change too! but for now shut the fuck up. go be in your annoying relationship with your insufferable bf/husband and tell everyone how much were missing out on by not being married/having kids. the gals a couple feminist waves back beg to differ along with the steadily rising divorce rates and rapidly declining marriage and birth rates.

you’re the one who’s unhappy. if not, then you simply lack compassion and general respect for others. your worldview is small and you’re ignorant. your life is yours, others have different wants and will follow the path that leads them to those things. we all suffer for our choices — sure, i may wish at times i had a spouse and a house and a mouse. that doesn’t mean it’s what i have always wanted deep deep down. it means it’s normal to wonder what it would be like to have what you don’t and yearn a little sometimes. BUT i’d literally never give up my freedom. i think back to high school often and how restricted i felt; i couldn’t breathe. i flailed in that environment because it was so rigid. i’m never, ever going back to that, ever. i have self respect

#dni #this was a lot my b #had to get it off me chesticles #sometimes i just want to shake people #like girl….congrats you got married….wow…women have been doing that forever lol #do something cool or different #like i’m tired of acting like it’s some big accomplishment to find love #idc #call #me bitter #call me whatever you want #i’m happy for my friends etc when they’re happily ina relationship or get married don’t get me wrong #the line is crossed when they act like it’s the point of life #and project unasked for pity on me #like seriously. you’ve done what women have been forced to do for millennia #…congrats? ig #anyways

[thelightoflebanon]

Warmth

Summary:  Castiel has lived for eons, but he never once felt as connected to another being as he does to Dean Winchester. Or...Castiel's usually a stickler for proper spelling, but he lets Traxx slide.

(A standalone one-shot that both serves as a 12x12 coda and a prequel building block for The Light of Lebanon.)

  The night air hits Castiel’s face once they walk out of the barn. It’s cool and refreshing, drying the moisture that had stained his skin in the moments before his imminent death. It’s strange. There’s no trace of the black goo that had poured from his mouth and onto his clothes, yet his skin is still clammy when he touches it. That, along with the ache that settles deep in his bones and chest, make him almost feel human.

He certainly had acted like one during what he thought would be his last breaths. He never expected to say those words. He had pondered them. When he first met Dean, he felt connected to his charge. He had been the first human soul he saved in over a millennia. The men and women who lived over a thousand years ago tended to believe in the power of God and angels much more often than not. Ira had dropped to his knees with joy when he brought him back to his wife and children and attempted to offer him food and shelter during his few days on Earth as a token of thanks. Although there had been a small part of Castiel that had appreciated how grateful the man was, he felt no further connection with him than necessary.

But Dean...Dean had fought him tooth and nail as Castiel descended into the pit. He swore and spat and clawed at his skin as Castiel started to raise him from the perdition he had been damned to. But once they broke through to the light, Dean clung to him and wept, staring up at him in awe as Castiel took him home.

He had never been more intrigued by another being in his life and he and Dean hadn’t even properly introduced themselves at that point.

And now? After all they have been through? Years filled with loss, tears, laughter, triumphs, more loss, so much loss...they always pulled through and managed to find their way back to each other.

Of course what he feels is love. He’s known that for a while now.

And he loves Sam. Sam is a brother, a friend. And Mary. Despite his years on her, she treats him like a third son in a way that isn’t confusing.

But Dean? ‘Brother’ doesn’t fit Dean, even though that’s the title Castiel has received from him. With Dean it is more than that, something so profound that Castiel sometimes feels it could shatter the very Earth they walk on.

He hadn’t had time to tell Dean all of that. So he had decided ‘I love you’ was sufficient enough with the little time he had left. Besides, Castiel is relatively sure Dean hasn’t heard the phrase directed towards him very often. He deserves that much.

“I’m gonna ride with him. He doesn’t need to be driving.”

Castiel hears the words, not particularly surprised by them. But still, he had been hoping for the quiet, to take a moment to clear his head and his heart enough to be around Dean.

“Dean, I assure you, I’m fine-”

“Shut up.”

Eloquent as ever.

Sam and Mary don’t argue the point. They’re not surprised either. Sam’s eyes just shift between the two of them, scrutinizing them curiously, while Mary looks at him with a tender sadness that makes him feel exposed.

Dean’s left hand finds his way to his shoulder and it stays there until Castiel steps into the passenger seat of the truck. Sam pulls off the property first, driving down the driveway and onto the road. He and Dean both watch in silence, a silence that is only broken when Dean lets out a shaky breath.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, man.”

Castiel’s lips purse at the words, ready to comeback with a smart response. But when he turns to look at Dean, his heart skips a beat when he sees his friend’s forehead resting on the steering wheel, eyes closed with fear.

Castiel raises a hand, wondering if he should soothe Dean’s worries. But he slowly lowers it back down to rest on his seat when Dean pops his head back up to stare at him with big eyes.

“I can’t lose anyone else, Cas,” he confides in him, “I really can’t. You’ve already died on me a few times. You don’t get to again.”

Castiel nods slowly, “Okay, Dean.”

“Promise?”

Castiel squints in confusion, “Considering our lives, I feel promising not to die again could be potentially hard to keep.”

“Just entertain me,” Dean pleads.

He studies his friend, the lines on his face that have slowly multiplied throughout the years, the way his mouth is drooped into a sad frown, and the way his eyes are searching him, for comfort or whatever it may be that Dean wants.

“...Okay, Dean,” he answers him with a sigh, “I promise. And I trust you’ll promise me as well?”

Dean smiles a little at that and lets out a small huff before turning back to face the windshield.

“Yeah,” Dean answers as the engine revs, “Sure. Chick flick moment’s over, right?”

Castiel shakes his head in amusement, “I believe you started it this time, Dean.”

Dean snorts and pulls out onto the road, “Yeah, right. You started it back at the barn. I just finished it.”

Castiel remains quiet for a moment before clearing his throat, “I was under the impression that a chick flick was a fictional film aimed towards the female demographic. Does making sure that you know the impact you’ve had on my emotions and my life before I die constitute as a chick flick moment?”

The interior of the truck goes completely silent, with the exception of Dean’s hitched breath.

“I apologize for putting you on the spot, Dean. I just...It was a vulnerable moment for me. I’d rather it not be completely disregarded and mocked.”

Dean sputters at that, shaking his head as he does so, “I wasn’t...That’s not...Look, I was just trying to lighten the mood a little. You followed suit. I’m sorry if I touched a nerve. Really, I am.”

“It’s alright. Perhaps I reacted to the situation too harshly.”

Dean shrugs, grumbling something Cas doesn’t quite catch, before reaching over to turn on the radio.

“Damn it, it’s all static,” Dean groans, turning the dial, “I figured we might be far enough out of the woods to be able to tune into a station.”

“It’s not the signal,” Cas shakes his head, “The radio has been broken for over a week now.”

Dean lets out a sigh, “Can’t you just mojo it back to life?”

“I’m not exactly in top form.”

Dean shrugs, giving him that, then rolls his eyes, “You don’t even have a cassette player.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Dude, we need to get you a new car.”

“My truck is completely adequate,” Cas tells him defensively.

“Believe me,” Dean scoffs, “It’s not.”

Castiel doesn’t argue his point further. It’s stupid to carry on anyway.

“It is.”

There. Now he’s done.

Dean’s a bit too insistent and controlling regarding his rest, but Castiel doesn’t find himself minding too much.

He’s been marathoning different shows with Dean for two days now, something they don’t have time for but he’s missed anyway. He hadn’t gotten around to the new season of Orange is the New Black, so they knocked that out in the first day, before starting on Breaking Bad.

“Walter White is a fucking dick,” Dean comments during season two, “I don’t care that he has terminal cancer. He’s leaving his pregnant wife to go off and cook crystal meth, turned down money when it was offered to him because of his pride, and treats Jesse like shit.”

“I’m not sure he has a soul,” Castiel answers, concerned, “No man could be so self-centered and power hungry.”

“Believe me,” Dean snorts, taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Castiel’s lap, “They do exist, souls attached and all.”

Castiel likes Netflix. He enjoys becoming invested in shows. Movies are fine, but television is fascinating to him, with the way it allows the audience to follow the lives of characters and watch them grow and change. It also lets him escape for awhile and enjoy one of the many aspects of art that humans created.

But he enjoys spending time with Dean more. Most of his time during his days off have been spent with Dean, with the exception of Mary pulling them all outside to take a family picture together.

However, despite Dean by his side, he starts to get restless on the fourth day of binge-watching. Restless due to knowing he has many tasks that need tending to, restless due to being so close to Dean after revealing so much just a few days before. He’s back to his normal self, whatever that may be, and he knows it’s time for him to go.

He doesn’t know why he waits until Dean falls asleep to get ready to make his departure. Perhaps because it is hard enough to get up off the couch when his friend is curled up next to him, knees drawn up in order to not invade Castiel’s space yet his toes are grazing his thigh regardless. But he forces himself to stand and manages not to wake Dean in the process, then collects a few of his belongings from his room before making his way back towards the stairs to the exit.

“You leavin’?”

Castiel pauses before turning around. Dean’s sitting up on the couch, his expression set in a tired squint as he stands up and stretches.

“Yes,” Castiel announces, looking down, “I...I believe I have taken enough time to rest up. I need to get back on task and search for a lead on Kelly.”

Dean frowns at that but nods, “Okay. Yeah, I get it. You sure you’re good?”

“I’m sure.”

“Cool,” Dean grunts out, “Don’t be a stranger, Cas.”

Castiel gives his friend a soft smile, “I won’t.”

“Seriously, dude. Answer your phone. Call in, even if it’s just to chat. Answer my Words with Friends requests.”

“I was starting to feel unchallenged with that game.”

Dean gives him a double take and laughs, “You calling me dumb, Cas?”

Castiel shakes his head and frowns, “No, Dean. You’re actually much more intelligent than you let yourself believe. But it’s hard to not become bored with a word game when you know every word in almost every language.”

Dean smiles at that, “Touchè.”

Castiel shrugs and begins to climb up the stairs towards the door, “I’ll be in touch.”

It’s just when he’s about to leave. He has his hand on the knob, ready to turn it and everything, when Dean speaks up.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean calls out, sounding a bit strangled, “Hang on a sec. I got something for you. Wait there.”

Castiel removes his hand from the knob, “Alright.”

Dean walks to the other side of the common room before going out of sight when he turns down a hall. Castiel stands at the top of the steps, curiosity filling his thoughts. But it doesn’t take Dean long to return. At first, Castiel doesn’t see anything, wonders if his friend had stuck whatever he went to get in his pocket. But then he sees it. It’s small and rectangular, and once Dean makes his way up the steps to stand in front of him, he offers it to him.

“I’ve been working on it over the last couple of nights,” Dean shrugs, handing him the tape, “Figured you should finally be introduced to Led Zeppelin properly. They’re important to me.”

Castiel studies the tape thoughtfully. Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx. It’s a unique spelling of tracks, one that Castiel hasn’t seen before, but he doesn’t question it out loud.

“These are your favorite songs?” Castiel asks instead, touching the writing on the label.

Dean shrugs “Yeah, most of them. But there’s a couple on there I added for other reasons.”

“And what reasons are those?”

Dean looks away at that, “I don’t know, they sort of reminded me of you. Thought you might like them.”

Castiel finds himself smiling a little at the words, although he isn’t sure why they cause warmth to blossom in his chest. He doesn’t particularly care. It feels nice.

“I’m sure I will. When I’m able to listen to them. If you don’t remember, my truck doesn’t have a cassette player.”

Dean nods, expression carefully blank, “Guess you’ll just have to come back and listen to the tape then.”

“I suppose I will,” Castiel agrees.

“Maybe…” Dean starts, almost seeming nervous as he breathes in, “Maybe you and I can take a drive in the Impala, drive until we listen to the whole thing.”

Castiel’s gaze softens at that, “I’d like that.”

Dean bites his lip, his eyes flickering over Castiel’s form once, before stepping back, “Good. Me too. So you better take good care of it until you stop back in.”

“Of course,” Castiel answers, dropping the tape into his pocket, “Goodbye, Dean.”

As Castiel drives away from the bunker, he finds that he’s overtly aware of the tape in his chest pocket. It doesn’t seem possible. In fact, Castiel knows it’s not. But he could swear the tape is making the warmth spread even further.

#Supernatural Fanfiction #destiel #Destiel pre-slash #Destiel Fanfiction #post 12x12 #dean's top 13 zepp traxx #I love you #TLOL #TLOL oneshot #TLOL prequel #The Light of Lebanon

[dirtywrat]

Wrote a new scene, made some tweaks. Writing dialogue is the hardest fucking thing in the world to me so idk how I feel about it lmao. :3

.X.

Eriibeus’ personal research log, 412.89AU

The people of Rolveon IV are currently undergoing what could be considered an equivalent to an early middle ages, characterized by trifling king and queendoms or small city-states constantly at war with one another for the sake of territorial dominance, as well as a general lack of record-keeping or cultural output. Their current timeline is marked as following the invasion and subsequent defeat of the Obrox armies around 230-sum years prior. They are primarily a feudal society, separated into peasants, nobles, clergy, and those whose status is granted to them by the Gods, and their overall worldview is highly theistic. They have yet to conceptualize most scientific studies; their observations of the natural world are often explained via religious texts, known amongst the population as “The Sacred Codices”, and those within the clergy are often the most highly educated. They do have words for several basic sciences, such as astronomy and/or astrology (often used interchangeably), alchemy, and anatomy, among a few other protosciences, but they appear to think of these subjects as being completely dissimilar to one another, totally uncorrelated. Unfortunately, the majority of the advancements made by the Rolveon ancients seem to have vanished. Scientific documents kept by the Obroxian Empire were either lost during the invasions or destroyed afterwards for being “Obrox heresy”.

Though still a largely god-fearing people, the Obrox invasions somewhat forced the Rolveon people to make changes in their societal lives. When neighboring domains found themselves confronted with Obrox armies, a need arose to form civilian militias to defend their lands, and a shortage of men meant that it was necessary to have women to work and fight on the frontlines, as well. Although it is obvious that women are still primarily domestic workers, it is not uncommon to witness a female soldier, or physician, or clergy member.

Unfortunately, they seem to be a rather petulant people, waging wars of aggression against neighboring domains, or initiating conflict with their fellow Rolveon with little to no consideration put before their impulse. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, they take the practice of medicine and study of anatomy extremely seriously, as evident by their extensive medical logs, which is even more noteworthy considering their lack of any record-keeping at all. Physicians are often clergy members, and are more often than not the local monarch’s head advisor. The increased need for medical knowledge seemed to have developed around the time of the Obrox invasions and has been on a steady incline of progress ever since. It is this medical prowess which is my reason for being here.

Word of their innovations (though primitive by any modern standards) has spread quickly among the niche biology forums I subscribe to online and I have found myself intrigued enough to spend mine and Kathria’s downtime interacting with their people and studying them directly, rather than from a standard observation post. Their practices are not perfect and they still have much to learn. Hygiene, for example, is frequently overlooked. I inadvertently instilled into them the idea of washing your hands before contact with patient, a concept which was before unheard of to them but they now actively implement into their daily lives. Often times, they are far from accurate as well, considering they still place much of their reliance on their Gods or unseen forces which they cannot control. But regardless, they work with surprisingly sophisticated models for surgery, alchemy, and treatment of illness. I’ve done my research and no documentation of any known advanced civilization having visited Rolveon VII in the past exists, so I am left to believe that these are their own unassisted discoveries, which I greatly admire.

I have been accepted to serve as an apprentice under the personal physician of King Acruxum of Okuil, a relatively poor and unknown kingdom which mostly serves as a stopping point for travelers between two adjacent, higher-profile domains. I figured this would be helpful in my attempt to remain off the Rolveon radar. I have disguised myself as one of their people using a basic holograph program which I made alterations to myself to ensure a more natural look and higher stability. It would surely be awkward should the programming fail while I am surrounded by Rolveons. I claim that I am from a made-up city-state very far south of Okuil. In order to be accepted for apprenticeship, I was required to undergo an exam. It was very similar to my primary school biology entrance exam: there were many inquiries about basic medical and anatomical subjects, as well as a literacy evaluation. Needless to say, I passed. I was also required to swear an oath that I would devote my practices to serve the Holy Trinity (in The Sacred Codices, the Holy Trinity refers to the father, the mother, and the child of the two, who together created the universe), but I have no intention of holding true to that pledge.

Kathria has expressed to me her concern with this mission of mine, claiming that it has potential to interfere with the natural development of these people, and is thus immoral. I disagree, as my intention is not to interfere, but to strictly observe. Aside from teaching them the importance of washing your hands, I have made no significant impact on anyone that I have interacted with thus far. My apprenticeship begins tomorrow, and I am eager to bear witness to their fascinating practices first-hand.

 .X.

 “Should I waste my breath a final time by telling you not to do this, or will you simply ignore my words again?” Kathria asked sarcastically as Eriibeus made some final adjustments at the teleporter control panel. Accuracy was always a necessity when utilizing this device, but for these purposes it was of even greater importance to ensure that he be transported far from civilization, lest the religiously minded people of Rolveon IV witness his sudden manifestation.

He flattened his antennae, thoughtful. Not in rethinking his mission, of course, but rather searching his mushroom bodies for a new response to this argument they had already had countless times since their arrival into orbit. “Kathria, please, it will be okay. I have already told you that I will be there to observe, nothing more. I’ve taken the precautions needed to secure an unsuspecting infiltration. They will be none the wiser of my presence.” He paused. “Even if things should go wrong and they discover I am not one of them, the Rolveons wouldn’t understand the things I could show them, anyways. It will all be boiled down to mere religious superstitions.”

She scoffed, folding her arms in an obvious display of contempt. “And that is any better?” Her frustration was reaching its hilt. “Eriibeus, these people are merely primitive; no different than either of us could have been only a few millennia ago. They are a young people but they are not stupid. They could very easily be taught the significance of our technology if given the time.”

“Well, then I will not give them the time. I will leave immediately should things go poorly.”

Kathria shook her head, unable to understand how a member of a species dubbed the most brilliant minds of the modern galaxy could not see what a terrible idea this was. “You’ve already done more than you realize. During your entrance exam, they took note of you washing your hands before touching anyone and now implement that practice into theirs. That is a significant advancement, possibly pushing their development ahead by an entire generation at least! Any amount of knowledge that you instill into the minds of these people is completely unethical.”

With a few final tunings, the teleporter was ready for transport, coordinates set for several miles outside of Okuil in the sparsely populated countryside. He would have to walk the main path some distance before reaching the kingdom, but patrolling forces traveled the road frequently and ensured security even outside of civilization.

He touched the screen once more to power up the clear tube stationed across from him. Its design was minimalist: a chamber large enough for a single target, and a thin pad lining its base where the dematerialization would take place. It was constructed from a transparent aluminum, giving the structure the appearance of being crafted out of glass. Once activated, its door glided open in a circular motion to conform to the device’s frame, any seams between individual components of the machine completely unrecognizable. These were the intricate and arcane designs of his people, the Phosnoi.

Eriibeus stepped inside and Kathria followed him as he positioned himself on the center of the pad.

“I realize that no laws exist which prohibit independent researchers from interfering with primitive peoples, but even if the blatant disregard for their cultural integrity doesn’t bother you, you are putting your own safety and the safety of the citizens of Okuil at risk. What should happen if you find yourself in a situation you can’t merely walk out of?”

Eriibeus’ antennae twitched and he blinked. “You believe that the Rolveons are capable of harming me?”

“You’ve stated in your notes that while highly intelligent people, they are also naturally inclined towards hostility with one another.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, but soon after shook his head and the door glided shut before him. “It will be fine, I assure you.” If Phosnoi physiology allowed them the ability to smirk, Eriibeus likely would’ve. “No risk is too great in the pursuit of knowledge, Kathria.” And with his final word, a ball of teal lightning sparked within the glass bottle and died in a single blink of the eye. Eriibeus had vanished, and would arrive on the surface of Rolveon IV in several seconds.

She let out a single laugh. The Phosnoi were renowned around the galaxy for their insatiable thirst for knowledge, which in turn often translated into recklessness. After all the time they’d spent together, what Kathria once found endearing, she now found immensely annoying. “The irony is not lost on me, Eriibeus. Foolishness in the pursuit of knowledge is still foolishness the same.”

 .X.

#science fiction #Eriibeus #Kathria #wip

[cyclinginaskirt-uk]

Question: What’s the longest bike ride you’ve ever been on? I’m talking hours spent in the saddle over the course of a day.

Whilst some of the cycle tours I’ve been on have lasted a few weeks or months I realised the longest time I’d actually spent riding was probably 10-11 hours (with appropriate tea and wee breaks of course). That was until last weekend.

The sign up.

It was another one of those optimistic/slightly drunk sporting entries, you know the ‘I’ve-had-a-glass-of wine-or-two’ kind, when you get that inflated sense of confidence whereby you can take on, and win, some of the great sporting feats on the planet.

Of course I can run a marathon, complete an Ironman, grab an Olympic gold, land on the moon…… So, what did I sign up for this time….. Mountain Mayhem – a 24 hour mountain bike race….easy!

Sanity must have kicked in slightly at the last minute because, instead of entering the solo category, I somehow found the sense/bare-faced cheek to talk a friend into entering with me in the mixed pairs section. That was the only drop of reason though.

Happily, this was months before the event and in the intervening time I managed to mostly forget entirely that I’d entered but, as the weeks crept by there was no avoiding it. This was going to happen. Cue lots of panic training rides.

The event

Fast forward a few weeks to Friday 16th June I’m sat in the middle of a Royal field no-less in the wilds of the Wiltshire countryside. It feels bizarrely like a music festival. Hundreds, if not thousands of people had descended on Gatcombe Park, home to Princess Anne and were now partying in her back garden which was awash with tents, BBQ smoke and loud music. The only slight incongruity is the startling number of very expensive looking bikes as far as the eye can see, tethered to cars, racks and in some case actually in the tents themselves.

“Welcome to the 20th and final Mountain Mayhem” the overhead speakers announce. “The world’s first and longest running 24 hours mountain bike race”.

It seems fitting somehow, if not a little disconcerting, that my first race experience will also be their last.

At the campsite I’ve got enough equipment to break a large elephant, my bike already disappeared under a ton of tinned rice pudding, chocolate, bananas and camping gear. I’ve also managed to bring every piece of cycle clothing I own from summer shorts to rain and winter wear, sun cream and snow gloves. I had less stuff going away for a 4 month bike tour than the next 24 hours, where on earth did it all come from?

Friday evening and there’s the opportunity for a practice lap of the course before racing starts at midday on Saturday. I’m torn between being able to practice the route and terrain and not wanting to add an inch of extra mileage to my legs before the main event. Maybe I’ll just look at the first bit…… 2 hours later and we’re back at the campsite sweating, exhausted and for me at least, very perturbed. Of course we ended up riding the whole route, 7.5 miles of some punishing uphill climbs and some tricky, technical descents. It’s about now I’m seriously starting to have doubts, both about my sanity and the ability to complete one lap of the course let alone 24 hours’ worth. Oh crap. Time for a medicinal gin and tonic before bed!

The next morning – race morning –  and the nerves have intensified to a seething mass of eels in my abdomen. My carefully calculated, highly technical race fuelling strategy, of ‘eat anything and everything available’, is being hampered somewhat by my stomach’s refusal to accept any incoming traffic. I struggle to eat a bite of banana which feels like a lead weight going down.

Shortly after, there’s also the opportunity to bless the relative cleanliness and proximity of the porta-loos as my body spitefully expels anything taken on board in the past millennia. 5 loo stops later as we head for the pre-race briefing I swear I’m starting the day on minus calories.

The race rules are simple, one of your team must be out on the course at all times, when you’ve finished your lap pass through the timing gate and hand over the baton (an armband) to your team mate who is waiting in the transition area. Then grab your bike and go go go, ad infinitum for 24 hours.

Simple!

As midday fast approaches the riders, including my teammate (TM), line up under a blazing sun for the Le Mans style start…. This basically means running a lap of the arena before grabbing your bike and heading out at high speed onto the course.

As the starting claxon sounds hundreds of men and women wearing helmets, hydration packs and cycling cleats surge forward into the sun baked arena. As the first wave passes it becomes clear however that not everyone on the course is quite so super-keen. Once the eager beavers have sprinted off the majority of the field, mindful of the long ride ahead, stroll jauntily along the course to the cheers and whoops of spectators.

The front runners though are now mounted and sprinting away; amongst the field are more than a few professional teams and it’s a real buzz to be able to compete alongside them.

Meanwhile, Bob the full sus mountain bike is waiting patiently in the racking area called transition as I hop around nervously, along with our  FTS – fantastic team support (my mate’s brother who stupidly agreed to help out) for the first change over.

Having ridden the route yesterday we had a rough idea of lap times but nothing definite. My stomach still in knots I try forcing electrolyte drink into it between porta-loo pit stops. The sun by now is merciless, on what subsequently turned out to be one of the hottest days of the year. With temperatures nudging 30 degrees centigrade, keeping cool even in the arena was going to be a challenge.

An hour after the start I spot a familiar cyclist tearing down the course – looks like it’s my turn. In to transition I grab the arm band from TM and with a brief ‘good luck’ wrestled Bob from the racking and head out on the course. My (vague) plan is to ride safely and steadily, the mantra of ‘it’s a marathon not a sprint’ playing on a loop in my head, whilst offering up the universal prayer ‘please don’t let me fall off and break anything again’ (sorry mum)!

The course was as tricky as I remembered but it did help having ridden it once. The mostly shaded forest tracks were also a welcome relief from the blazing sun. Each climb however was just as unforgiving and the downhills as hair raising. Panting up the last monster hill before the home stretch however I realised the technical stuff was now behind me, for this lap at least. Even better was the growing camaraderie with the other competitors, people were so friendly, cheering each other on, joking up hills, giving words of encouragement.

Topping the final hill the track then wound through the massive campsite and the supporters really came in to their own, people cheered and whooped, as you rode through the mass of tents. Even more welcome were the kids (and adults) with water pistols, drenching you as you went by which was heavenly in the blistering heat. Small jump ramps had also been dotted around and I was feeling cocky enough to tackle a few, flying along the last grassy stretch before the wooded path to the arena. Re-entering the ring pedalling like a fury under the timing gate I arrived in a sweaty, overheated heap to hand over the arm band to TM. 2 laps down, 2 hours in, 22 more to go!

And so began a pattern. Finish lap, ride the half a mile to the tent, peel off clothes soaked in sweat and hang to dry. Change (mostly back into half dried sweaty stuff), apply buckets of sun cream, grimly try to force down food, brilliantly prepared by FTS, drink, ride half a mile back to arena. Go back on out on the course. The only things that slowed were the handovers where we quickly ditched the flying changes for a 10 minute chat/rest at the end of each lap. Much more sociable.

Evening definitely brought relief from the relentless heat of the sun but it threw up another issue, riding at night. It’s something I’d done quite a bit of last year, pre-accident, but nothing since then and on such a technical course I wasn’t looking forward to it. TM had graciously offered to try and tackle the majority of the night time laps being the more experienced rider but I still had some to do.

At 11pm I headed out for my first double lap in the pitch black. The course at least had become more familiar by then and I was feeling more confident with its twists and turns, however it’s funny how a landscape can change with darkness. There seemed to be far less riders for a start, sometimes I was completely on my own and I tried not to think too much about the strange, dark shapes flitting between the trees. Bats, it must be?!

Settling in I came to the final and trickiest major descent, the surface was so loose on this one that any real braking meant that the bike skidded out of control so the best approach was a full throttle plunge into the trees and a roller coaster of a ride down. This bit always made me nervous, I debated walking it in the dark but pride said otherwise so, with a deep breath, I sucked down my fear and plunged downwards.

Not an ideal time then for my light to run out of battery. With no chance of stopping I was in complete darkness as I careened through the forest, all I could do was hope the trees were where I remembered them to be.

Somehow I made the bottom in one piece and shakily pulling over to switch to my back-up light. Passing through the campsite I stopped off to grab a quick drink from FTS who was still awake before heading on. There was nothing so soul destroying however as passing through the timing gate and not being able to stop. Exhausted, I could only look wistfully at transition before heading out for another lap.

How the solo riders did it I don’t know, although they could stop and sleep, it takes real mental reserves to keep pedalling alone. By now I realised the teams of 4 or 5 had the right idea, enough riding but with a longer break. In 2-person teams, the riding was relentless, the breaks short lived.

By the time I finished the second lap I was at my lowest point mentally and physically, lack of food, sleep, fear and constant adrenalin gnawed away at confidence. Worse still we were only just half way through. It was a huge relief then to hand the baton over with the knowledge that TM would be taking a double lap and I could finally get a little bit of rest.

Hot food and a short sleep worked wonders and 3.30am I’m back in transition for my next lap. I’m also smiling to myself, listening as riders fly in calling for their team mates, only to be met with a deafening silence. Some people it seems have missed their alarm call and are snoozing in tents whilst their tired team mates make irate calls to them regarding whereabouts.

Out again and what a lap this next one is, I feel restored, there’s even a glimmer of dawn on the horizon, the air is cool, the course is far less dusty and riding well, I’m feeling confident again, we can do this.

TM is also feeling rested and takes another double lap. Time for more sleep and food.

6.45 am and the day is glorious, warm (it’s been a warm night) but fresh. A golden post-dawn light bathes the rolling hills and lily ponds. The woods are cool and fragrant and between the trees are glimpses of the royal estate, including Gatcombe house itself. I wonder if I could pop up there for breakfast. Stern noticeboards and an even sterner security details suggest not.

We’re over ¾ of the way through now. We’re going to do it.

The remaining laps roll by, one on, one off. I’d hoped to be the one riding the final lap but timings meant this honour would fall to TM and well deserved after taking those night time double stints.

10.55am and I’m heading out on Bob for the final time. Tired but energised.  I’d gradually been walking more and more of the big hills as the event wore on, often at a quicker pace than those riding and a good efficiency saving. I try riding a few more this time, after all it’s our final lap. Some great banter and encouragement from all the competitors now who are even noticing my change of skirts. We’re de-mob happy, the end is in sight. I tick off the uphills and their subsequent tricky downs, counting them down by the names over which I’ve had 24 hours to christen them:

Fun big bomb hole down; bast**d grassy climb.

Fun Loamy berm bit; long bast**d stony uphill.

Slippery rooty down; beautiful lake single track, evil climb from hell

No light, supersonic, final downhill.

And that’s it, the last technical descent done all that remains is the long hot slog up to the campsite. Even then I don’t mind, I’m savouring every bit of this final lap and, as I crest the last hill to the shouts and cheers of the spectators, in my head I’m leading the home straight at the world cup. Flying down the grassy track, over the jump ramps, skirt fluttering in the breeze, through the woods and into the arena. My family are there now too as are TM and FTS, my legs are full of adrenalin and pumping like mad. We fly around the last corner and through the timing arch, hand over the baton and…. That’s it.

I’m done and I’ve done it. The adrenalin ebbs, I can’t believe I made it through a whole day and night. A quick wash and change and I’m back to cheer TM over the line at exactly 12.00, 24 hours after we started, riding through intense heat, darkness, spectacular sunsets and sunrises. Through an entire wardrobe of cycle clothing and way too many cans of rice pudding to even contemplate.

The final results, whilst not important to us per se, put us squarely in 4th place in the mixed pairs category. Team ‘Bike and the Mechanics’ clocking up a respectable 22 laps (10 by me, 12 by TM) not bad considering some of the calibre of riders out there.

For me that’s approximately 75 miles of off-road riding plus another 5miles or so commuting to the tent. Trust me it counts.

Celebration is a quiet affair. Half a pint of beer each and we’re rapidly sliding towards comatose but with a huge sense of satisfaction and achievement. Going into this I had no idea if I could make the distance, although determined to do it, short of being carried off the course, it was an unknown quantity in terms of physical and mental endurance. Underlying it is that fact that I still consider myself lucky to be here too. With most of last year written off through injury, even during the hardest hours I wouldn’t have swapped the experience, or the chance to tackle it, for anything.

There was a certain sadness in the air too at the last running of this iconic event (in this format at least) but it was truly a joy to be a part of, brilliantly organised and well honed. As ever though it was the people that made the whole event truly great, from those little jokes and conversations with other riders, the kind words from the spectators and most especially the support from FTS (aka Tim) and TM (aka Andy). Great job guys, I would say see you same time next year but…..

*Lezyne photo credit to Rob Crayton, courtesy of Mounatn Mayhem.

Toughness is in the soul and spirit, not in muscles. Alex Karras Question: What’s the longest bike ride you’ve ever been on? I’m talking hours spent in the saddle over the course of a day.

#Cycling #Gatcombe park #Happy #Inspiration #Laps #mind over matter #Mountain bike #Mountain Mayhem 24 Hour Race #Night racing #portaloos #racing #rice pudding #Team